Portrait of A Girl
by Zors
Summary: Edward, smartest student at St. Bart's School for Boys, always thought he was straight. That is, until he met new student Ben Cheney. But what happens when Edward discovers that Ben is actually a girl who goes by the name of Bella Swan? AH AU.
1. Prologue

**AN:** Welcome to the new story! We're going to be doing things a bit differently when it comes to a girl trying to pass off as a boy, and hopefully we'll have some fun along the way.

**Summary:** Edward, smartest student at St. Bart's School for Boys, always thought he was straight. That is, until he met new student Ben Cheney. But what happens when Edward discovers Ben is actually a girl who goes by the name Bella Swan? Also described by a reviewer as "Bella's darkly hysterical quest for manhood." (Thanks, Chess).

**

* * *

Prologue**

When you're a kid in elementary school, you don't ever imagine that one day you'd have to change your gender in order to get the education you need. You don't ever sit there in your miniature chair, sipping on your Juicy Juice, thinking, _When I get older, I'm going to pretend to be a boy so I can go to college!_

My life used to be so different. It's sad, how people don't have control over their own lives anymore.

My new home is a piece of shit. It's crumbling at the seams, and it's all me and my dad can afford. My new school is dilapidated. It was even designed and built by the same man who designed and built the prison off the highway.

At my old school we would all joke about how our high school is prison, how much it resembles hell. It's only ironic, now, that I find myself in a place exactly like the satanic institution I once I imagined I was educated in.

The reality is that I don't deserve this life. I used to have things so good, and I want it all back. I want it back now.

I stared at the green wallpaper decorating my room as another corner of it began to peel off right before my eyes. The only way someone would know how I was feeling as I watched my home deteriorate around me would be by the singular tear crawling down my cheek.

It's the only one I've actually let escape from my eyes in months.

_Fuck this shit, fuck this shit, fuck this shit. Fucking stop crying._

Stupid fucking tear, you let one loose and a hundred others start to fall.

"Bella?" Charlie called through the door. God damn, no one is supposed to hear me. But that's bullshit, I can hear the neighbors in the duplex beside us pathetically fucking each other all night.

I took a deep breath before I called out, "Yeah, dad. I'm fine."

I heard his feet shuffling away from my door and let out a deep sigh. I have to get it together.

But this place fucking reeks. There's this stench that lives in the walls and now our furniture. There's an ant crawling out of the crack in the wall by the only useless window in my room. The damn thing doesn't even open, and during the winter my room was a freaking ice box due to all the cold air it let in.

_Shit!_ Here I go again, about to cry.

_Don't let it out, don't let it out, don't let it out. Don't let yourself fucking cry over it._

I took a dozen shaky breaths before I was confident the tears wouldn't come back. No, I'm not fucking crying over my sorry excuse for a life, my piece of shit school, or my decaying house, because tomorrow I'm finally going to try and take control. I'm going to change it all. Again.

I'm not even going to be called fucking Bella Marie Swan anymore.

Nope, fuck that. She's gone. You can call me Ben Cheney, and tomorrow I'm going to be the new member of the senior graduating class of 2009 at St. Bartholomew's School for Boys.


	2. First Day

**Chapter 1: First Day**

To get to St. Bartholomew's School for Boys I had to walk five minutes to the end of my street in the shady part of town. At the end of the street was a simple white sign with the image of a bus in black, and there I waited for a burnt orange and blue bus to publicly transport me twenty minutes over the border to the town of Wharton. I got off at the stop that left me right at the end of the school's fields, and then it was another fifteen minute walk before I reached the building.

St. Bartholomew's main entrance was deceiving. The first building you saw once on campus was a gothic church made of a deep chocolate colored brick, with heavy black double front doors, and black trim around the thin, highly-arched stained glass windows. It was at once haunting and welcoming, and it looked like it came straight out of a _Harry Potter_ movie.

The church itself appeared to be a normal sized. It was the building behind it, the actual school, that was monstrous. It was made of light gray brick instead of rich brown, and had the shape of a simple rectangular box. Large square windows lined the building on all sides, delineating the four different floors of classrooms.

I walked alongside the right of the school building, occasionally blinded by the sun reflecting off the modern silver trim around the windows. St. Bartholomew's was well-funded. It was the best education a teenager could get for miles, the only drawback was that you had to have a penis to attend.

Well, not anymore. But the administrators didn't need to know that.

At length, I came to the end of the building and rounded the corner, walking past some first floor windows. I peeked in quickly and saw a high tech classroom. I recognized the Smartboards on the wall (there was no way in hell I recognized them from the school I attended last year, but from my old school back home), and the bright, almost daylight-like fluorescent lights shined happily off a sleek Mac computer on a teacher's desk.

I walked past two such classrooms until I finally came to the courtyard.

Although the building looked to only be in the shape of a square when looking at it from the angle of the church, I quickly learned that that was not the case. The building was actually a vast rectangular U, with a beautiful grass courtyard leading to the actual main entrance. An elegant, wood-carved sign announced the name of the institution—you guessed it—_St. Bartholomew's School for Boys_ in perfect script.

I sucked in a deep breath to prepare myself to enter the school for the first time. I even reached a hand up to run through my hair—an instinct I had to unconsciously make sure it was cooperating—when I realized I didn't have long mahogany hair anymore. I'd cut it all off.

I sighed at the loss of my hair. Whatever. It was now or fucking never.

I was vaguely aware of the dormitory houses behind me off to the right. Crowds of male students were pouring from them, also making their way to class, unaware that some of them would be learning next to a girl for the first time.

I reached down into the khaki slacks that composed the bottom half of my uniform and pulled out my schedule, along with a map, and the room number of the office I was checking into to begin my day. I scratched my neck for what seemed like the thousandth time, already not liking the itchy midnight blue polo I had to wear.

I was as hot as hell. Even though it was September, the weather was still clinging onto the eighty degree days of summer, and I had what felt like ten extra pounds of Ace bandage wrap around my middle to hide my breasts and make me look stockier.

Looking at my schedule, I realized just how much I was going to have to bite my tongue. For example, this was a Catholic school, I couldn't drop the f-bomb every time I felt the need to be sarcastic or express my agony. I also couldn't take the Lord's name in vain, and I couldn't say anything that would expose my disbelief in God.

Hell, the freaking essay I wrote to win the scholarship to this place asked me to identify my hardships and how I found the light of Jesus through it all. If I opened my stupid mouth and denounced any of what I wrote they'd probably take their money back and kick me out. And that was the last thing I would ever want to happen.

I needed this place to get me into college.

I felt myself yawning now, as I walked towards the big glass door with my nose in my papers.

o

M T W Th F 8:00 am: Morning Prayer with Father Joseph

M W F 10:30-11:25 am: Physical Education

M W F 12:05-1:00 pm: American Government

M W F 2:00-3:00 pm: Painting Level II

T Th 9:30-11:00 am: World Literature

T Th 11:15-12:30 pm: Environmental Sciences

T Th 2:00-3:15 pm: Statistics

o

For some reason, even though I'd stared at this schedule for a month now, and was glued to it on the bus ride over, I just noticed that no matter what time you had classes in the day, you still had to be awake and present for Morning Prayer. I was going to spend about forty minutes traveling here every day to sit through Morning Prayer at eight in the morning, and then what the hell would I do until I actually went to class? Sit on my ass on one of these benches in the courtyard?

I would worry about that later. I was expecting something like this. Being a new student, there's always a whole bunch of awkwardness you have to go through until you either blend successfully into the sidelines, or find a group of people to be your friends. I fully intended to do the former, and become a part of the white paint on the walls.

Because if I made friends, and they found out I'm _not_ a boy…I shudder to think of what would happen to me.

Charlie was already restraining himself from calling in the white coats to take me away to a padded cell, I had no doubt that these religious nuts would do much worse.

I pressed my fingers behind the cool metal flap that was the door handle and pulled it open, stepping into my new school, the last high school I planned on attending before college.

I quickly walked forward to stand against the wall where a cheerful looking bulletin board had signs welcoming students back and wishing them a successful new year, and stared at the map some more.

_Main office, main office_… where was it again?

"Hey," someone said. There were dozens of conversations around me, some students pooling into small groups while others flowed around them. I glanced up quickly, nervously, before examining my map again.

"Hey," the voice said again, sounding closer, and I had a sinking feeling the person was talking to me.

I looked up again and found myself staring into two bright green eyes and a head of ginger-ish hair. He was tall, and lean, and slightly muscular, and by looking at him I forgot he was trying to speak with me.

"Hey," he repeated for the third time. "Are you Benjamin Cheney?"

"Um," I began, sounding way too girly. I coughed, and started again. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

One of my strategies to pass off as a guy was to lower my voice, but not by too much so that it sounded forced. Everything I had discovered and practiced until I was sore, I implemented now. I used my gut and made my words throaty. I used a gentle voice that greatly reduced the risk of squeaking, and of people hearing me well enough to think I sounded like a girl.

"Well, everyone knows about the kid who wins the Felton Scholarship. And you're also the only one with a map in their hands. Where are you going? The church? I can show you the way."

He turned to start walking, but I stopped him. "Uh no, thanks. I'm looking for the main office. I'm supposed to meet Principal Rogers there."

"Oh!" Understanding flickered across his face. "All right then. They're probably going to prepare you for the commencement speech."

I gulped as we began to walk together down the hall. "Commencement speech?"

What the hell kind of speech did I need to be prepared for?

"Yeah," he said, glancing my way. Seeing the terror on my face, he quickly began explaining. "You don't have to say anything, you just stand there while they introduce you and brag about how you've _risen from the ashes_ to bring yourself to our school and _better yourself_ through God," he finished, a little dramatically.

"Oh," I commented, nodding casually.

"I'm Edward Cullen, by the way," he said, sticking his hand in front of me to shake. I took it, and was surprised by the strength of his grip. I tried to match it, but I was pretty sure I still seemed like a limp fish to him.

"You can just call me Ben," I informed him in reply. That was one thing that was easy about this whole transition into the male gender, I got to remind people that I go by a nickname: it was once Bella instead of Isabella, and now Ben instead of Benjamin.

"So," Edward said conversationally, "how'd you 'rise out of the ashes'?"

For some reason, it was incredibly easy to talk to him as a guy. I think if he met me as a girl, I would have been a puddle of drool at his feet by the time he said hello to me the third time. I decided to answer him honestly.

"I wrote about my mom's death and the move me and my dad had to make, and the shit I went through at the school I went to last year."

"Crap, sorry," he apologized immediately. "I didn't realize you actually wrote about stuff you'd been through. I thought you just wrote about what every other St. Bart's wannabe writes about. You know, how they've used everything their parents provide them to better other people's lives, and how they found their piety."

"Nah, don't worry about," I assured him, feeling proud of myself for getting to use the typical guy response.

We had been passing classrooms on our walk down the hall, but I noticed there were wide double doors ahead of us made of soft pine. Once we were in front of them, Edward stopped us.

"So, here's the main office. See you at the commencement speech."

I nodded at him as he walked away, noticing the little cerulean plaques on the either side of the doors with the words MAIN OFFICE in white letters.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable any longer, I stepped forward and pulled the handle.

A blast of air conditioning hit me in the face as the door shut behind me. There were various species of plants lining along the windows and on top of the secretary's desk. Handwritten signs in Spanish instructing the night crews to leave items on the desk alone were taped along its edge, and I could see the backs of picture frames facing the penny-haired and pink-faced woman behind them. She reminded me of Mrs. Cope back in Forks, except she looked like she lost a ton of weight, and now skin was sagging everywhere. I was particularly turned off by the skin drooping off her neck like a chicken wattle.

"Hello there, what can I do for you?" she greeted in a pleasant enough tone.

I cleared my throat again, preparing to lower it. "My name is Ben Cheney, I'm supposed to meet the principle."

"Oh yes!" she smiled, stretching the skin on her face. "Hello Ben! So nice to meet you! I'll go tell Mr. Rogers you're here."

She pushed her emaciated looking frame away from the desk and disappeared behind a door on the opposite wall of the office. I idly scanned the room with my eyes, wondering why the hell the secretary needed so many damn plants. I'd never heard of anyone having a leaf or flower fetish before, but it seemed that this woman just might be the first.

"Benjamin?" I heard the voice of the secretary call. I almost didn't look up, still not used to recognizing my new name. "Come in here, please."

I forced my legs to move forward and into the room in which she was standing. I was fully dreading meeting the principal, especially after Edward told me about the speech. Heck, I dreaded every stupid situation where adults felt the need to introduce the new person to everyone. I was not going to be making any fucking friends anyway. People in Illinois sucked, in my opinion.

"Hello Mr. Cheney," a deep male voice said. I heard the secretary close the door behind her on her way out, leaving me alone with a large plump man with a purplish nose and cheeks. "Mrs. Logan is a nice woman, isn't she?"

I nodded, coming to stand in front of him with my hands crossed behind my back. I just fucking met the woman, but sure, she's nice.

"Well, welcome to our school, young man," Principal Rogers boomed out his introduction to himself and the school. "That was quite an excellent essay you wrote and we are excited to have you here for your senior year."

Rogers puffed himself up, and then with great effort, lowered himself into the large leather chair behind his mahogany desk. The whole room had an academic feel—high shelves full of thick, impressive looking books on them; navy blue walls with wainscoting and several different diplomas hanging sturdily. I felt more studious just standing there.

"I'm glad to be here," I told him politely.

"Good, good," he rumbled. "Yes, well, we are indeed glad to have you. Now I see you've elected to commute to campus?"

"Yes, sir."

"But when I look at your records, I see that you live in Chelmsford. Wouldn't you rather live here? That way you can make friends faster, become acclimated to the school…"

I knew what he was saying, he didn't need to word it so civilly. I lived in a shit town that was falling apart as much as my duplex. Any person in their right mind would choose the manicured lawns and safe dormitory housing in beautiful Wharton over crappy Chelmsford. But I was not in my right mind, obviously. I was freaking pretending to be a boy so that I could go here. And besides, how in the name of all that is good was I going to pretend I had a penis when I was in the showers? And if you could tell me how to magically hide the fact that I bled from my vagina once a month, then I was all ears. But since I was guessing there was no one who could give me that answer, I was just going to commute to school-thanks.

It would be hilarious if I could give Rogers those explanations as my reasoning for not living on campus, but since I couldn't, I got ready to give him a much more standard one.

"I realize that, sir, but for now my father needs me at home."

"Oh, okay," Rogers raised his eyebrows at me in resigned disbelief, "but if you change your mind, just know that housing is included in your scholarship, and you have until the twenty-second of September to move into the senior's dormitory."

"I will keep that in mind, thank you," I respectfully replied, even though my mind was already busy forgetting the date.

"Now, Benjamin, to begin each school year, Father Joseph gives a commencement speech. And since you're the winner of our prestigious Felton Scholarship, you're required to sit on one of chairs behind him with the other teachers and administrators and stand when he announces you. It's a little surprise we like to spring. Purelt ceremonial. You think you can do that?"

I didn't know why he was asking, it seemed like I didn't have a choice in the matter at all. But I agreed anyway.

"Of course, sir."

"Good. Now follow me, it's time we get down to the church. Commencement's about to start."

Rogers gave me a friendly smirk before heaving himself out of the chair. I followed him, convinced that this man was so large that by looking at him from the front, no one would realize skinny little "Ben" was behind him.

* * *

**Edward**

All eight hundred students were slowly settling into the pews and balcony of the church, waiting for commencement to begin. I was sitting between my good friends Emmett and Jasper, bored out of my mind.

Ben Cheney was St. Bart's hottest gossip right now, but every guy was trying to act like we weren't like the girls over at Mary Anna's by casually avoiding him as if he were just another one of us, and by nonchalantly asking one, and only one, question about him.

Since I was the only one so far with the balls to approach him, everyone had been slowly coming up to me, asking their one question. Even Emmett and Jasper were trying to maintain a cool exterior, but I could see right through it. I knew how curious they were.

"So," Emmett began, "is the new kid chill?"

"Yeah, man. New kid's chill."

I could sense the eyes of other curious students on us in the nearby pews, but I didn't care. It was better than repeating myself.

"What's he like?" Jasper asked.

"Chill," I stubbornly responded.

"Come on, man, that's not what I meant."

"Well," I said, thinking about how my first conversation with him surprised me, "he's not like Aaron over there."

I tilted my head across the aisle at Aaron Matthews, the kid who won the Felton last year, and the biggest momma's boy on the planet. He was my nemesis, and he was out to try and stop me from becoming valedictorian this year. Little does he know that was never going to happen.

Emmett, Jasper and I were all grumbling under our breath about what we'd like to do to Matthews, in as nice language as possible while in the church, when Principal Rogers finally stepped forward to quiet us all down. He gave his little welcome back speech, and then stepped down for Father Joseph to take his place at the podium at the left of the altar.

Father Joseph did not fail to be as predictable as he was every year. We all had to sit and listen to another long-winded speech about how fortunate we were to have God in our hearts, and how we couldn't ever take for granted the opportunity to be educated under His guiding light. It took all the strength I had to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head. Looking over at my friends, it appeared they were struggling to stay awake also. Every year it was the same thing. No one wanted to wake up at seven-thirty in the morning after being able to sleep in till noon all summer long, especially when they could all predict exactly what was going to be said.

Every student perked up a bit once Father Joseph began to speak about the opportunity that God had provided through the Felton Scholarship. We all looked behind him to Ben Cheney, who was sitting rigidly with his head bowed slightly. Poor kid, just about every one of us was sizing him up. He didn't stand a chance at avoiding all the criticism. It must have blown to go to a new school your senior year. I wouldn't ever want to put myself through that…but then again, after what Ben alluded to earlier, this must be nothing compared to what he's been through.

Finally, Ben was standing after Father Joseph announced him. He gave his attentive audience in the pews a tight smile, and a small movement of the head that could be classified as a nod, before he sat back down in his chair.

He looked so stiff. Maybe he was nervous. And by being able to look at him from afar, I got to really take in his appearance.

Ben was one of those short guys with a broad body and small hips. He probably also worked out to compensate for his height, if the way his pecked jutted out a bit were any judge. I always felt bad for guys with his body type—they never seemed to get the girls. And if they did, it was always a really insecure girl who was only with the guy because she liked the idea of a boyfriend, and he was there and available.

Ben's hair was kind of short and choppy; in fact, he looked like he cut it on his own without a mirror. Or it could be intentionally messy. He could be one of those guys that likes that "I just came out of a garbage can, but I still smell all right" look. I didn't know.

This year's commencement speech seemed to drag on forever. I felt like every year this whole ordeal just gets more pompous and drawn out. Maybe years down the line, when I'm working where I'll be working, I'll look back on my senior year commencement speech and appreciate it. Maybe I'll even feel nostalgic.

Yeah right, I'll be eighty before that happens.

* * *

**Bella**

Exiting the cathedral after the commencement speech, I was beginning to think it was a bad idea to apply for a scholarship at such a religious school. I was scared as shit to be sitting there among every other adult in the school, separated from my peers. Way to make me feel isolated, Rogers.

Sitting like I was a fucking statue in a display case, I allowed some fragments of the speech I just heard to be absorbed into my brain.

All this talk of being merciful to others and they will be merciful to you, and how we should be charitable to our neighbors in our thoughts, our words, and then in our acts…I didn't know what to make of it.

So walking down the hall, back towards the main office, where I would be given more uniforms and a locker and such, I tried to make sense of it all.

Why the hell did religion try and dictate your thoughts? And did winning the Felton Scholarship make me God's shiny new charity case at St. Bart's? Because that was what it sounded like.

And all if it was bullshit. It was just such a load of bullshit I could feel the bile rising in my throat the more I thought of it.

_It was better than the prison you went to last year._

I let myself sigh internally. This place was rainbows and puppies and sunshine compared to everything I'd been through and the place I was living in right now, but I still didn't want to accept it. I'd become a masochist, really. I don't know how to live through my day anymore without loving how much I pity myself.

This whole "Ha-ha suckers you actually gave your prized scholarship to a girl," and all the hardship surrounding it, were the only things I had to feed my masochism now.

I thought over my tendency to enjoy misery throughout the rest of my first day at St. Bart's. I had to deal with some rectory nuns who taught some of the classes introducing me to certain kids, but other than that awkwardness, it was a piece of cake. I couldn't, however, avoid the sensation that, wherever I went, curious stares were following me.

I expected to be pushed up against a locker and bullied like in those awful eighties movies, but it never happened. I didn't even hear the low whispers of people talking about me right before I rounded the corner and caught them gossiping.

No one had a full out conversation with me for the rest of the day. No one spoke to me of anything but simple pleasantries and standard "getting to you know" stuff. I saw that Edward Cullen kid in the cafeteria around lunchtime, and I thought about joining him. But then I remembered that we weren't girls, and that I couldn't go up to him with a shy smile and a blush and ask if the seat beside him was taken. Guys just didn't work like that, so I took my lunch out to a bench in the courtyard.

I was let down by the fact that Edward was the only one to approach me. Yet, as I thought about it more on the bus ride home that day, I decided I should be thankful that no one else felt the need to ingratiate themselves too much. It only helped me achieve my goal of blending into the scenery.

_That _was_ what I wanted to happen, after all._

In fact, this whole pretending to be a guy thing might be easier than it actually seems.


	3. Gym Class

**Chapter 2: Gym Class**

"In this interior necessity, in this dynamic of love, there is indirectly revealed the _near impossibility of one person's being appropriated and mastered by the other_," Father Joseph droned on.

Morning Prayer was the most difficult thing to sit through, and it was only my second day here.

And even though it was only the second morning of my matriculation at St. Bartholomew's School for Boys, I was already regretting the naïve thought that pretending to be a boy might be easy.

This morning, in the lukewarm shower, I began to _shave my legs_.

Shave my fucking legs! After I spent a month disgustingly growing out the hair on my legs so that they would be at least somewhat boyish, I actually started to shave the damn things in a moment of drowsiness. So now there was a two-inch wide gap of smooth skin, stretching from my ankle to my knee, sandwiched in between my attempt at growing long, wispy leg hair.

While that sucked balls—balls that I didn't have, by the way—it was not the only thing that had happened this morning before Prayer.

Because, speaking of those balls that I didn't have, someone accidently hit them on my way in through the main doors this morning.

A backpack seemingly came out of nowhere and WHAM—right in the crotch. Only I didn't register the discomfort and pain nearly as high as everyone around us expected. The kid whose backpack knocked into my non-existent nut sack was huge too, with dark curly hair and muscles that put my attempts at bulking up to shame. And when I didn't immediately hit the ground with tears in my eyes? Well, I bet you can imagine the weird stares Muscle Kid and others gave me.

For some reason, I didn't think I would have to pack my pants. I figured the natural bulge from the zipper of my guy jeans would be enough.

Again, Morning Prayer was actually the most difficult thing to sit through, especially when your mind wandered to what items you're going to use to create a fake dick, and then you forget to add the 'Amen' to the end of the priest's prayer along with everyone else.

Being a pretend guy was not easy.

Finally, after I thought my heart had stopped beating from boredom, we were all released from the church, squeezing through the double doors like the cattle we were.

I was filing out behind complete strangers, wondering how I was going to pass my time before my next class, when there was a tap on my shoulder.

"Benjamin Cheney, correct?"

I turned, and was met with a rather tall, sandy-haired boy with overbearingly eager eyes.

"Just Ben," I replied, knowing that by announcing himself, I was being sucked into a redundant conversation—one I expected to have many times with each person I met. My throat was suddenly dry. Somehow this conversation, this person, made me uncomfortable. Maybe I wasn't really ready to be a boy. I didn't know, suddenly, how many conversations I could survive, how many people I could trick into believing my appearance. Maybe I could just skip class if it got to be too much. . .

He stuck his sweaty palm right into my face, not giving me any more time to think about my readiness. He also apparently didn't know that handshaking etiquette that states you should hover your hand in the person's waist area. "Nice to meet you, Ben. Excellent job winning the Felton. The name's Aaron, Aaron Matthews."

_Bella, Bella Swan._ I mocked in my head, using my best mental impersonation of Sean Connery.

I grudgingly accepted Aaron Matthews's hand as we walked down the hall, trying to grip it as firmly as Edward gripped my hand yesterday. Because a firm grip was confidence.

Social awkwardness prevented me from saying anything in response, and therefore Aaron Matthews continued speaking in a well-mannered tone that was definitely rehearsed. "How do you like the school so far? Is it living up to your expectations?"

Expectations? Well, if you could count eyeing those fat green dollar bills that parents poured into this school as an expectation of what I wanted to get out of this place, then my expectations were definitely being met.

"St. Bart's is very impressive," I replied, mustering as much of my enthusiasm as I was able. "I'm glad to be here."

"It really is a wonderful opportunity provided by God," Aaron continued, using his hands to help him talk.

"Mm-hm," I lied. I guess I was shocked by his religious devotion. I thought that kids who went to Catholic school weren't actually very religious, but Aaron was the exception to that belief.

Not everyone was as dispossessed of faith as Bella Swan.

"You know," Aaron continued condescendingly, "I won the Felton last year."

"Oh, really?" I feigned interest. What did he want from me? Congratulations? A pat on the back and a golden star? I didn't give a fuck about who won the award before me.

"Yes. My parents were very proud, obviously."

"And what about yourself?" I asked casually, though I was actually suddenly interested in whether or not this kid had a mind of his own. If he applied for the scholarship and came here because of his parents, then-to me-he was his parent's puppet.

"Hmm?"

"Were you, you know, proud that you won the scholarship for yourself?"

"Oh, of course. I was actually humbled that they chose me, and my parents were very happy. The Felton and St. Bart's are everything my family's ever dreamed of. We were all proud."

I didn't suppress my sigh. He was a complete puppet. In fact, he was the type of puppet you had to stick your hand up the ass to control.

"What?" Aaron questioned, seeming shocked that I sighed. "Weren't your parents proud?"

I frowned, feeling concerned I wasn't paying enough attention to my role and too much attention to feelings of anxiety and annoyance.

"Oh, no," I backpedaled. "No, it's not that. Of course they were proud, just like your parents… I was just, uh, thinking about all the, um, other kids."

"What do you mean?" He frowned at me curiously.

"You know," I paused. I was shit at lying. "The other kids. . . whose parents would have been just as proud if their kid were able to get it. It's such an. . . excellent opportunity. . . I just wish more people could have it."

"Yes," Aaron sneered, not giving a rat's ass about other people who deserve the scholarship. "In fact, that reminds me. Since there are only four people in the whole student body who are currently attending that have won the Felton, we tend to form a little club. It's just the past three winners and now you, the current winner, and we invite you to get together with us now and then and hang out." He smiled at me as if we had both won the award all over again. "The other people at this school haven't gone through the same ordeals that we have, so we just. . . tend to hang out together. We even like to meet with the principal sometimes and share our opinions about improvements for the school."

He sucked in an impressive amount of air. "We can be quite influential," he finished, exhaling confidently.

If the thought of me joining any sort of organized group could tickle me pink, my cheeks would be rosy right now.

Yet, I didn't laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea. Instead, I thought about how I would let down this arrogant asshole without insulting him. I didn't need any enemies.

Again, why the fuck did I think this would be easy?

* * *

**Edward**

Emmett, Jasper, and I were silently following the crowd of students out of the church. It was times like these where everyone was squished together that I couldn't help but feel like a sheep. Which was ironic, considering this was a Catholic school. Students were the flock, Jesus was the shepherd. Ha.

Emmett and Jasper were separated from me after I pushed my way past some freshmen who were crawling along at an obnoxiously slow pace. A few steps later and my skin began to crawl, and on instinct, I looked up, finding myself in close proximity behind Aaron Matthews, the biggest creep in the school.

But then I realized to whom he was talking, and my attention was immediately captured.

Ben Cheney.

I listened as they talked about the Felton, which was not surprising. That scholarship was the only thing that Aaron could talk about, as if it made him the King of England, or something equally delusional. But I was more interested by the obvious restraint and boredom in Ben's tone.

I wondered if Ben actually told people what he was really thinking. Although I couldn't repress the smugness I felt at knowing that he was incredibly candid with me yesterday. It was just one more thing that I could rub into Matthews' face: the new kid likes me better than you, the new kid can also pick up on the fact that you're obnoxious.

I wanted to laugh when Aaron inhaled, expanding his chest so that he would seem bigger, taller; right before I heard him say, "We can be quite influential."

Conceited idiot. I exaggerated a scoff, making Aaron turn his head to see who made the noise. Ben turned also, and I gave him a quick smile to say hello.

Aaron turned back to Cheney, awaiting his reply.

"Thanks for the offer," Ben stated carefully. "I'd like to meet the other winners some day, but I don't really have the time for any clubs right now."

Another neutral, restrained response from the new kid. He was good at them. I would've accepted that answer and moved on, but Matthews was persistent.

"Ben, there's always time to come hang out with us. We can meet whenever is more convenient for you, it'd be no problem at all."

"Still—"

"Meeting with the other winners is almost as great as winning the Felton. We can open a lot of doors for you here."

"Well—" Ben started to say, but he was denied the chance to talk again.

"We know all the right people. We don't mess around with some of the other types they let into this institution."

Aaron glanced over at me while he spoke, effectively turning on my anger.

"Just shut up Aaron," I interrupted. "You don't know what you're talking about, and Ben obviously doesn't want to join your little cult, so back off."

"No one was talking to you, Cullen," Matthews jeered.

"Too late. I already spoke."

His stupid little eyes tightened in frustration, and he opened his mouth to retort when Ben cut him off.

"Anyway, thanks for the offer, Aaron. I'm not going to be able to meet with any of the other winners on a regular basis or anything." He stopped speaking, and a look of determination crossed his face right before he briefly looked my way. "I won the Felton on my own. I think I know how to meet the right people on my own."

I taunted Aaron just a little bit more by pulling a face full of false surprise as I watched rage threaten his calm façade. Ben also seemed just as pleased with himself at pissing Matthews off, earning him about twenty more points towards his cool factor here at the school, especially among me and my friends.

Matthews was suddenly aware that a few people stopped walking to watch our little showdown, and regained his manners.

"Oh, well, that's fine, I guess," he told Ben, completely ignoring my existence now. "Anytime you change your mind, you know who to talk to."

"Not gonna happen," I heard Ben mutter dryly at Aaron's back as he stalked away from us. Then he turned to me with a genuinely grateful smile. "Thanks for that. I didn't think he was going to let me speak for a minute there."

"No problem. Matthews is a jerk."

We stood there awkwardly, not sure how to proceed. I was deciding how to best incorporate the manners my mother taught me, without sounding like a middle-aged man, when I noticed Ben opening his mouth to speak.

"So there's really some sort of club that the other Felton winners are in?"

His voice was so quiet and gentle I almost didn't hear him.

"It's not a formal club, per se. It's more like Matthews roped the other Felton kids into it." Or he really, really tried to.

"What's his deal, anyway? He made it sound like he survived a natural disaster before coming here." It was easy to detect the edge in voice; he didn't like Aaron's attitude either. And then I remembered what he said about his mom dying yesterday, and the bitterness in tone made even more sense.

I didn't feel the need to hide my scorn. "He didn't. He just thinks his problems are special. And he thinks that winning the Felton makes him better than everyone else. The people who also win it just happen to be on the same playing field as him."

Ben was watching me closely while I spoke, making me feel as if I were under some sort of microscope. I didn't know whether to feel uncomfortable or to try and expose more of myself.

"What happened to make you hate him so much?" he asked, his eyes never leaving my face.

"I wouldn't call it hate." I shrugged. "It's more like he expected the entire school to bow down and kiss his feet when he came. He thought he would be the golden boy of this school, and he was condescending to everyone, pretending to be friendly. When he figured out he was second in class to me. . ."

I couldn't finished my sentence, too lost in my thoughts over what happened last year. I hoped that by trailing off Ben could fill in the blanks.

But he couldn't. "What?"

I thought carefully before I spoke, leaning up against the wall behind me so that I could have some literal support. I hated telling this story, but somehow didn't mind Ben knowing about it. "You know how I said that he would pretend to be friendly? Well, he would come into my room and ask for a simple favor—he would need a stapler, or something like that—and he'd try and have a conversation with me.

"I didn't think anything of it. It just seemed like he was sucking up to pretend like he had friends. But I found out later that he did it to figure out my schedule so he could sneak into my room and mess with my computer."

"What?" Ben asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, he'd try and mess with my school stuff so that I'd be forced to pass it in late or whatever and get my grade marked down. It was all stupid stuff. Emmett caught him one day and told him off."

Ben had stuck his hands deep into his pants pocket, far off in thought. After a moment of awkward silence which made think that I had said too much, he looked up at me again. His eyebrows were so furrowed his entire face was twisted.

"Who's Emmett?"

_Hello, left field_, I thought. I had expected more questioning on the Aaron front, but welcomed the change in direction.

We were alone in the halls by now. Everyone else had gone off to their next class, or had found some place to hang out until they had somewhere they needed to be.

"Emmett is a friend of mine. Jasper, too," I informed him.

Ben's eyes were dancing with amusement, as if there was some secret joke he was keeping from me. "You've been at this place for four years and you only have two friends?" He snickered.

I didn't mind the joke at my expense; I was too taken off guard by Ben's face and the genuine smile on it. Normally it was so morose, but with a smile. . . there was a shocking contrast.

"Eh." I raised and dropped my shoulders briefly. "They're the only important ones. Everyone else is more like an acquaintance."

He nodded appreciatively, seeming to understand where I was coming from. I pushed off from the wall and looked around. The halls were peppered with colorful paper welcoming students back, advertising clubs, homecoming dances, and various other activities. I wondered if Ben thought this school was trying too hard to be impressive. If I were in his position, it would certainly seem that way to me.

"Hey," I began, breaking us out of the reverie we had settled in, "What's your first class?"

His response was so quick and quiet I didn't even hear him. In fact, I noticed that Ben always spoke softly, as if he were constantly meditating his words.

I asked him to repeat himself.

"Gym," he said a little louder, clearing his throat.

"With Mr. Cohn?"

He reached into his pocket and fumbled with a piece of paper that was obviously his schedule. "Yeah."

"We're in the same class."

I noticed his face froze for a moment. I wondered what he was thinking about to make him look so nervous, but then the expression was gone, and his usual gloominess was back.

"So, since we've got time, wanna waste it hanging out in the courtyard?" I threw the question out there fully expecting to be rejected. Everything about Ben screamed 'loner'.

But he surprised me by nodding. "Sure."

"All right," I replied, and turned to lead the way.

* * *

**Bella**

Talking to Edward with the sun warming my back wasn't as horrible as I thought it would be. It was easy, and damnit, I deserved to have something in my life that was easy. It helped that a breeze would blow by and ruffle his hair and the sunshine would dance across different portions of his face. It was the simplest things—the strange color of his hair, his pale skin tone, his crooked smile—that drew me in. I was beginning to see him in a different light. There was more to it than just looks; there was personality.

By the time for gym class rolled around I had completely forgotten my urge to run, although the idea of truancy was still appealing. I was so caught up in my conversation with Edward, though it was standard and slightly boring, that I didn't even realize that it was nearly time to go change for class.

Edward got up and walked with me into the building, still commenting on different teachers within the school. He took a right once we were in, and led me through an unmarked door a few feet away from the main entrance.

As strange as it was, the unmarked door led to the guy's locker room. _I should probably just call it the locker room_, I thought to myself. As far as everyone else was concerned, there were no girls here, and therefore no need to differentiate between genders.

There was a short wall on my left as we walked further in. Once we reached its end, Edward gestured down past it to an expanse of stalls. The showers, he explained to me, although people only used them if they played a sport after school, such as football or lacrosse. The only thing I paid attention to was the fact that I wouldn't really have to use them, and that if I ever did, there were separate stalls… Thank you, Jesus.

Continuing past the small section set off for shower stalls, we reached the lockers. Off to the right there was a bunch of open space with a few low benches. On the left, for quite some way down, were the lockers themselves. They were pretty tall, yet they didn't reached the ceiling. They were rectangular, with the standard slits in the small doors, which alternated in blue and gray colors. They were designed so that one locker was on top of another, and I could hear the people already in here arguing over who wanted a top locker, and who wanted a bottom one.

Edward walked me down to the very last column of lockers. In between each column I noticed more benches for kids to sit on while they changed. Unlike the benches in the open space, these had a blue-colored brick base, so that you couldn't see a person's feet if you were standing somewhat behind them.

I hovered back at the edge of the column Edward brought me to, while he walked further down it to some lockers by the wall, which had a high, round window in it.

He continued to explain that the seniors were always assigned the last few rows of lockers near the back. For some reason, it seemed, this school was big on class separation. Even in the cafeteria, where there wasn't any formal seating arrangements, there was an unspoken rule about where the seniors, juniors, sophomores, and freshmen sat.

I was diverting my eyes while Edward stripped off his shirt, when someone suddenly knocked into my shoulder.

I glared at the back of the huge person who walked past me to stand by Edward. He didn't even seem to notice that he nearly threw me sideways.

"Hey, Emmett," Edward greeted him, and I remembered him mentioning the name before, in connection with Aaron Matthews.

"Hey, bro," Emmett responded. And then, without any sort of knowledge that what he was doing was fucking rude, he turned and looked me up and down.

I nearly blanched when I saw his face. Emmett was the monstrosity of a teen who slammed his backpack into my crotch earlier.

"Who's that?" I heard Emmett ask. I looked away from their faces, hoping that Emmett wouldn't out me as the guy whose balls were magically desensitized.

"You don't know who that is?" Edward asked mockingly. "That's Ben Cheney."

I looked at them now. Edward rolled his eyes for my benefit, while Emmett sat on the bench with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Yeah, I know who it is," he said. "I was just playin'."

Emmett then went on to undress with Edward. I looked away, again, feeling my embarrassment coloring my cheeks. There was a little piece of paper in my pocket with my locker number and combination on it, and I could feel it burning a hole through my khakis.

"Yo!" Emmett bellowed to get my attention. "Aren't you going to change?"

_Aw, shit. _I began to nervously scratch at the nape of my bare neck, wishing there was some hair that I could use to hide my face.

"Umm…I don't remember my locker number," I hedged. "I'm going to go figure it out."

I turned and ran out of there like a bat out of hell. Once I was outside of the locker room door, I leaned against the wall and took in a deep breath.

_I can't do this. I can't do this. There is no way in hell I can do this. _

I'd never even been around a naked guy my age before, what made me think I could get away with changing in front of one?

I stood there, outside the door, fighting the dizzy spells that were a result of my anxious breathing, for several more minutes. After I had completely calmed down I went back inside. Thankfully, judging by the stillness of the locker room, I had waited long enough for everyone else to be changed and in the gym already.

Apprehensively, I walked down to the last column of lockers and, with relief, stared at its emptiness. No one had waited around for me.

Locker 325 was the one to which I was assigned. I was embarrassed to note that my hands were shaking as I twisted the combination on the face of the lock. The tension in me was tighter than a guitar string. At any moment someone could walk in here, and I had very little control over what they would find if they saw me.

I hastily swung open the door after the final dry click in the combination—I had a top locker, not that it was very important—and found the gym uniform that Rogers promised would be there.

With fretful, fumbling fingers I lifted the hem of my shirt over my head. I could see the goose bumps forming around the ace wraps on my chest as my skin adjusted to being exposed. I threw the navy blue polo into the locker and lifted out the white one that I was supposed to wear during gym. Once I had my arms through the holes and the hem back down around my hips I exhaled in relief. The ladies were covered again; the hard part was over.

The other part to my gym uniform was dark blue basketball shorts that had two white stripes going down the outside of my thighs. I was hoping with everything that I had left in me that no one would be able to tell that I didn't have penis in these shorts. I would definitely need to pack my pants for future classes.

My khaki slacks were down around my ankles when I heard my name being called out.

"Ben?" It was Edward, shouting out my name from somewhere in the locker room.

My heart starting pounding like a rabbit's foot in my chest when I heard his footsteps coming closer. I looked down at the pants around my feet and then back to the shorts in the locker.

_Fuck it. I don't have time. _

I flung myself with the surprising grace of a gymnast over the bench. And, with impeccable timing, I landed in a belly flop just as Edward rounded the edge of the column.

"You okay?" he asked upon seeing me sprawled out half-dressed. With any luck, he wouldn't be able to see my bottom half over the bench.

"Yeah," I said breathlessly to the tiled floor.

"You sure?"

I looked up at him to find that he was trying to hide his laughter with a concerned frown.

"Oh, yeah, I'm good. I just tripped," I assured him. No need for him to know I was an acrobat when I needed to be.

"Well, you might want to hurry up. Cohn's taking attendance soon."

"…Okay, just give me a minute."

Fortunately, Edward understood that I didn't want him watching while I lifted my pathetic self off the floor. He turned around and started analyzing a club flyer on the wall, and I took that as my cue to put on my gym shorts as fast as I could.

If I thought that that somersault I did over the bench was amazing, I was wrong. I peeled my pants away from my ankles and replaced them with the shorts with the delicate prance of a cat, sliding my legs gracefully into the appropriate spot. And I'm sure the speed with which I did it was a new world record-for me, anyway.

I was lacing up my shoed when Edward decided to look my way again. I smiled up at him, hoping to distract him from noticing anything strange about me. When I was finished with my sneakers I hopped up, gesturing for Edward to lead the way to the gym.

He took us straight across from our column to another door I hadn't noticed before. He pushed it open, and then we were surrounded by the bright lights reflecting off of the laminated wood floors of the gym.

The adrenaline that came with Edward almost catching me pant-less, and therefore dick-less, was wearing off as we came to stand behind the group of students who were gathered around our teacher. I couldn't help but take a few shaky breaths as I listened to the man in the gray shirt wield a clip board like a sword above his head while he talked about what we would do in his class.

Edward heard my semi-erratic breathing and raised a bemused brow in my direction. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I repeated.

He nodded and then went back to paying attention to Mr. Cohn's introduction. I slowly settled down, feeling a bit easier when I heard that we would be doing the lame "getting to know you" exercises instead of anything too strenuous.

As we broke up into groups, I was feeling completely comfortable. It was like I suddenly belonged where I was standing, like I was just one of the guys. I mean, I had found a couple of them that I could get along with, and I was doing an awesome job of keeping them from discovering my secret. And it wasn't like I was doing something I hadn't done before. Standing in groups passing around inconsequential information about yourself was an activity everyone had done since kindergarten.

However, it was when Emmett, Edward and I were standing together complaining about the little game we were about to play that I got the rug pulled out from under me again.

"Hey, Ben," Emmett interrupted our conversation with his laughter.

"What?"

He didn't answer me, he just kept snickering and looking down at my feet.

"What?" Edward asked this time.

"Dude!" He pointed towards my shoes. "What the hell happened to your leg?"

I could feel a habit forming as I groped at the back of my neck for the hair that wasn't there. Glancing down at my legs, I saw what Emmett was laughing at: the runway of perfectly smooth, shaved skin on my shin.

I sighed. What did guys say in a situation like this to cover up their embarrassment? Not exactly looking anyone in the eye, I tried to remember to keep my voice low and even.

"I lost a bet," I replied, to which Emmett only laughed harder. I heard Edward chuckle along with him.

No, pretending to be a guy still wasn't easy, and I had a feeling that my second day at this school was going to be the longest one of my life.


	4. Impressions

**Chapter 3: Impressions**

Gym class was almost over, yet I felt that I had already learned plenty about Emmett McCarty. Not only was he the size of Sasquatch with the facial bone structure of an Abercrombie model, but a player and a joker. Well aware of his impressive size and fortunate good looks, he was very much looking forward to his next conquest at the Homecoming dance.

"This year's dance is gonna be bomb," he informed me and Edward for the third time in fifteen minutes. So far, we had been trying to ignore his excitement, but this time, Edward took the bait.

"Why's it going to be bomb, Emmett?"

"Because, it just is," he said cockily. "It's our senior year, our last one of these things, and there's no way it's not going to be awesome."

"Whatever you say," Edward muttered. I could tell by the way he kept staring at the ceiling that he didn't want to deal with his friend's over-confidence right now. He sighed, running a hand quickly through his hair, and turned to me. "Am I a woman?"

"No," I told him, noticing that Mr. Cohn was waking past us. "You're a man."

We were playing that stupid game that gym teachers love to play where everyone has the name of a celebrity taped to their back. The purpose was to go out of your comfort zone and talk to everyone in the class, asking yes or no questions to help you guess which celebrity you were supposed to be, but it never worked that way. Our entire class was broken up into its own little groups of friends, only actually going along with the game when the teacher walked by.

"Anyway," Emmett continued once Cohn was out of hearing range, "I have a feeling _the ladies_ are going to be all over Man Land this year."

I looked at him curiously. "Man Land?" I questioned.

"Man Land," he repeated, motioning to his dick as if it were a landing strip.

I think if I was Bella, I would've blushed and tried to leave the room. As Ben, however, I began laughing.

"What?"

"You make it…you make it sound like you have an amusement park between your legs," I managed to say. He stared at me in mock hurt.

Edward was grinning broadly. "He's right, you do."

"So?" Emmett retorted. "That's not a bad thing. You just wish your junk was as entertaining as Six Flags, Eddie," he finished smugly.

"More like Navy Pier," Edward scoffed.

While they went at it, I noticed Cohn walking up to the different groups to check their progress with the game. As he left each circle, the students started trickling back into the locker room. Class was over.

"Oh, you mean your dick is more like that fucking Ferris Wheel at the Pier? I didn't realize you were that lame."

"_I'm_ not that lame, Emmett, you idiot. _You_ are."

"Listen," I interrupted, "as much fun as listening to this is, Cohn is about to come over here to see if we're done."

"Oh, right." Emmett reached behind his back and pulled off the index card taped there. "Damn, I was Michael Jackson."

"I was Barack Obama," Edward muttered.

I twisted my arm behind my back and tore off my own card. "Who's Megan Fox?"

Edward and Emmett each gave me one of those _Are you for real?_ stares. Apparently I needed to do some research on who major female celebrities.

_Megan Fox…Megan Fox…_ I wracked my brain for a mental image, or for any familiarity with that name, and came up with nothing. Oh, well.

Mr. Cohn came over to us right before the two guys in front of me were about to question my sanity. The three of us stood there and lied easily about playing the game at the end of class, and then let him know who each of us was by handing our cards over to him.

"You really don't know who Megan Fox is?" Emmett clapped me on the back as we walked towards our lockers. I cringed a little under the strength of his arm.

"Um, no. Wanna tell me?" I asked shakily, more nervous now about how I was going to get out of changing again than knowing who Megan Fox is.

"She's from the _Transformers_ movie," Edward supplied.

"Oh."

"Never seen it?" he asked, his green eyes quickly sweeping to mine.

"No. I'm not really into transforming robots."

"How can you not be into transforming robots?" Emmett asked rhetorically.

"If you're the type of guy who shaves his legs for a bet," Edward mumbled, flashing a grin. He had tried to pry the story behind the bet out of me earlier, but without success. _Like I could even come up with a convincing enough story._

Emmett's booming laughter echoed off the walls as we finally made it to the lockers. I actually followed this time. I walked right up and started doing my combination alongside everyone else, just like a normal guy. Outwardly, I was quiet and calm. Inwardly, I could feel my heart thumping away in my chest.

I jerked the Master Lock that was implanted in the door and swung it open. I gathered my uniform under my left arm and turned to Edward. "Uh, is there a bathroom nearby?"

He was in the middle of taking off his shirt, which did not help with my heart situation, and didn't seem to think my request was strange. "Right before you go out the door that leads to the gym there's another one on your left. That's it."

I excused myself as I maneuvered around half-naked strangers and sped-walked to the bathroom. There were three urinals and three stalls. I immediately halted my steps once the door closed behind me. I felt like I was a spy invading enemy territory, and that all of a sudden someone was going to walk in here and scream: _I know what you are! Get the fuck out of here!_

No one did, obviously. I was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and so far, a very convincing one at that. Out of curiosity, I walked over to the urinals, never having seen one up close before. They were strange, ugly pieces of porcelain. I was glad I didn't have anything to whip out and be measured alongside other guys while I peed.

After gym, the rest of my day seemed to drag on. I was used to a very regimented school schedule: Get there at eight, go from class to class with only five minutes in-between, a half hour for lunch, and get home by two-thirty-ish. I didn't know what to do with myself with these long lulls between classes.

There were tiny things I discovered, though, with all the free time. At one point I was in the library, aimlessly walking around and pulling out promising looking books, when I noticed my fingernails. They were getting long. Not that I normally kept them at dagger length or anything, but it suddenly dawned on me that I would have to cut them more often. Short, stubby nails were what the guys sported these days. Long nails were girly, and therefore not cool.

But at lunch, I discovered something that was a thousand times cooler to me than my nails.

I was sitting alone in the courtyard again, a piece of pizza and a small carton of chocolate milk relatively untouched in front of me. Not liking the idea of being so goddamn alone, I wasn't in the mood for eating a lot. At least at Chelmsford High, Kim, a random stoner, would sit with me sometimes. Eating by myself was becoming more and more depressing, even though I had only done it twice so far at this school.

Anyway, after grudgingly taking a bite of my pizza near the crust, I saw a piece of it fall from my mouth on the bottom of my periphery. Instinctively, I looked down to search for the fallen crumb on my shirt or in my hair. _That _was when I realized it—_there wasn't any hair there for me to get food in._

It was amazing; the sensation equivalent to riding a bike with no training wheels for the first time. Having to awkwardly brush food out of my hair like a toddler who didn't know where her mouth was located was always a bit of an embarrassment. But now…now there was no hair! It was an unexpected perk to this new lifestyle of mine. I began to refer to the incident as the No Food In The Hair Phenomenon in my head. Genius! Later on, when I finally got home, I decided I would congratulate myself with a cookie for thinking of it. There was no reason for me to miss the hair anymore, especially when there was this silver lining.

The four monotone chimes of the bell broke me out of my revelry. Though time had been dragging, it was time for me to go to my last class before I was even ready for it.

_Ding—ding—ding—ding_. It sounded more like a flight attendant was about to make announcement rather than a school bell telling its students it was time for class.

My last class of the day was Painting Level II. I was praying for a normal art teacher. Normally, art teachers were crazy middle-aged women who were about to go through menopause. They usually had all sorts of ideas about art and life that came from their own experiences (and thus only applied to them), and they tried to force them on you in discreet ways. Or maybe I would get one of those rare art teachers who was a man in his thirties. They'll still hate you if you don't draw or paint in a way that they approve of, but they're typically more laid back…and secretly gay, which usually meant they were nicer to you.

My eyes were glued to the map as I tried to figure out my way to the classroom. It shouldn't have been that hard for me to find it, seeing as the building was in the shape of U, but I was always directionally challenged. I would probably be dependent on this map for the rest of the week and the next, or until it was ready to tear at its creases.

With my trusty paper guide in my hands, I found the room just before the final bell rang. I quickly scanned the wide benches that were the art desks for an open seat. I found one, in the back, that had no one else seated at it. I nearly ran for it.

I plopped down my simple black backpack on the floor by my stool. The teacher—a middle-aged woman, unfortunately—was already walking around and handing out a sheet. When it was my turn to get one, I stared unsurprised at the syllabus laid out before me. Syllabi were wonderful things. Teachers took the time to print them out and then spent an _entire_ class discussing them, making it easier for people like me to daydream. It was even better when the students left them behind, and the teacher was forced to realize their wasted effort.

Mrs. Cherry had just finished introducing herself when it dawned on me that luck wasn't really with me today. A blonde-haired boy came in a minute after the bell, sent an apologetic smile to the teacher, and then took the only open seat—the one beside _me_.

"Hey," he breathed as he slid onto the stool. I gave him a polite smile in return, not really feeling like making conversation.

He wasn't on the same page as me, though.

"Name's Jasper," he whispered, holding out his hand.

I shook it briefly, not liking the formality. I was a weak hand shaker, and didn't feel the need to try the same way as I did with Aaron Matthews. "I'm Ben."

"Yeah, I know."

It was a bit patronizing, and I was sick of it. _Everyone was_ so fucking brilliant. If they all knew who I was, why even bother with the introductions? The idea of correcting Jasper by telling him my name was actually Bella with a huge grin on my face flickered through my mind. It was tempting to shock and confuse him. Almost too tempting.

_"Hey, guess what? You _don't_ know. My real name is Bella. I've got breasts under this shirt."_

I sighed a little. Yeah, that was never going to happen.

Jasper didn't want to tell me anything other than his name, and for that I was thankful. I got to daydream for the majority of class, just as I planned. I would glance around the room, taking in the color scheme of the walls, the boredom on people's faces, the dust floating in the sunlight near the window.

I began wondering what Mrs. Cherry was wearing. The woman was short and stout, with a roundness that was evident everywhere on her person—her face, her stomach, her legs, and even her feet, which I could see through her Birkenstocks. Her chin length salt and pepper hair was curly and wild and frizzy. But it was her outfit that amazed me the most. I was no fashion expert, but I was pretty sure that lavender corduroy pants, a plain white tee, and a rainbow patchwork felt jacket were not in style. Not even in 1990.

After I decided that I couldn't wrap my mind around what Mrs. Cherry was thinking when she bought those clothes, my gaze settled on the paintings hanging on the walls. They were just reprints of famous works that ranged from the size of a piece of copier paper to a large poster board, but I was entranced by them. Literally, I felt like I was sucked in.

I blamed my absorbed focus on a particular portrait of a girl. She looked defeated, and I loved her for it. Her hair was chestnut brown and wavy, sort of like mine before I took scissors to it, and so long that the ends of it disappeared beyond the edges of the frame. Her head seemed to be craned backwards, presenting a jaded posture, exposing the milky whiteness of her neck. Her full lips were crimson and there was a hint of rosiness to her cheeks, but it was her eyes, those round sapphire pools of sadness, that made me feel her pain. She was beautiful in a very dark way, she was hurt, and she was watching me.

"Uh… you going to leave?"

I wondered what was oppressing the girl in the portrait. She was obviously from a different time; a more patriarchal society. Her pressures were so different from mine…or were they? Probably not, but I couldn't help but imagine they were mostly likely in the same vein: we were both pawns to forces larger than us.

"Class is over… You get that, right?"

We were equals. I felt like she knew everything that was going to happen to me, as if she were one of the Fates weaving the thread of my life in her loom. That was probably why she looked like she was going to cry—my future was bleak. Or maybe she was stronger than tears. Maybe she was like me—she knew there was no use in crying, because no one would pay attention. But still, the threat of those tears would linger. Maybe, just maybe, I could reach out and touch her…touch her and…and what? Fall in? Become her?

There was a sharp nudge in my side, and my concentration was torn away from the portrait. "Hello? You there? Class is over, Ben."

I looked up to find Jasper standing over me, frowning. I glanced around his side and noticed that the last person had just left the room. Even the teacher was gone. "How long was I spaced out for?"

He laughed while I hurriedly scooped my bag off the floor. "I'm thinking you tuned out the entire class."

"You're probably right," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks turn the same pink as the unknown girl on the wall. "How long ago did the bell ring?"

"Not that long ago." He shrugged.

"Well, uh, thanks for snapping me out of it."

"No problem," he said, not waiting for me as he turned to leave the classroom. That was another thing I was suddenly thankful for—that he didn't expect me to walk with him. That was probably only girls that expected things like company and conversation after someone helped them out.

I pulled out my map of the school; the creases already becoming worn from being folded and unfolded over and over again. _How embarrassing_, I thought as I made my way down the hall, _to zone out like that. _Stupid portrait. I should just fall asleep next time, gather up some energy. But I knew I would never be able to sleep in that class with _her _gazing at me. Ignoring her stare as I left the room, I followed the map as best as I could until I was standing at the top of a ramp that led down into what looked like a dark and sketchy janitor area.

_Did I just get lost using a map?_

"Hey, Ben!" a familiar voice called out from behind me. "What are you doing down there?"

I swiftly tucked my map into my pocket. I'd just pretend that I got lost without it…

"I don't know," I told Edward honestly as I twisted to face him. "I got lost."

"No kidding. This is the ramp to the janitor's wing. The main entrance is in the opposite direction." He tilted his head as he turned in the direction I should have been going. I followed, eagerly catching up to his step. I didn't want to _not_ follow him like I did with Jasper, and then end up on the roof.

"So, which floor do you live on?" Edward asked conversationally, sticking his fists into his pockets.

"Floor? I don't live on campus."

"You don't?" His eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.

"Nope," I said, popping the word between my lips, and got ready for him to have the same reaction to my place of residence that Rogers did.

"Can I ask why?"

"You can ask."

Edward looked embarrassed when I said no more, his ears tingeing pink. _Kid takes everything so sensitively, _I noticed. First, when I told him about what I wrote in my scholarship essay, and now this. He wasn't coarse like Emmett; he had more of a heart. It was endearing, really. He was probably close with his mom. I wondered if I would be more like him if my mom were still alive.

I decided to retract my little statement—which was only funny to me, it seemed—before I did permanent damage with it. "Sorry, I was trying to be clever. I'll tell you if you want to know."

"What? No, you don't—"

"I don't live on campus," I interrupted, "because my dad needs me at home right now."

"Oh… So where do you live?" He looked me right in the eyes, and I could see the actual curiosity there. He was trying to make more small talk much like he did before gym class, but it didn't feel that way.

"In Chelmsford."

"Are you serious?" he asked, wide-eyed. Our conversation was briefly paused when we came to the main entrance. Edward went ahead and pushed one of the doors open, holding it with his shoulder until he was sure I was through.

"Yeah. Why would I lie about living in the ghetto?"

"I…don't know." He rolled both of lips inward and then pushed them back out, forcing me to notice their shape.

"Anyway," I began, ready to pull myself away from him and not think about his lips, "I'll see you around. I've got a bus to catch."

"Oh, okay—wait! You're still not going to tell us about the bet you lost?" He smiled a quick, uneven smile while referring the teasing he and Emmett gave me earlier in gym. I should've known he wasn't going to let it go. He was just going to wait until we were alone, thinking that I would confide in him. Fat chance.

"Hell no." I shook my head as I turned away from him, heading toward the fields I would have to cross before I got to my bus stop. I didn't look back.

There were groups of guys out on the fields today, enjoying the good weather. Some of them had footballs, baseballs, or Frisbees, and were tossing them around with a certain ease that I was jealous of. Along with an internal GPS, I also lack coordination. The motor strip in my brain was damaged, I swear. I was convinced someone dropped me on the head as a child.

Passing a gathering of what looked like freshmen boys, I heard snippets of their conversation. All of it was the banter that came with the camaraderie of kids their age. I heard delightful little comments like "Stop being a douche and just throw the thing," "You fail!" and, "You look like someone just twisted your titties."

I shook my head at them, trying to understand why putting someone down was the male population's repartee of choice. Without even realizing it, I slipped back down memory lane. . . to my time at Chelmsford High. . .

* * *

_He's not looking at you today. He's not looking at you today. Today, he's finally just going to leave you the fuck alone._

"Bella!" James shouted.

_Ah, fuck._ _Just keep walking…pretend you don't hear him._ I quickened my steps, but I could already see him moving towards me out of the corner of my eye.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, look at me!" He jogged across the hall, and joined me as I walked towards my locker.

"What do you want?" I seethed, already giving into my anger before the harassing started.

"Nothing. Just that Kim says you let people smoke at your house. Why haven't you invited me?" He pouted at me, acting as if his feelings were hurt, but I knew better by now.

"I don't let Kim or anyone else smoke at my house," I insisted.

"So you _are_ a nark."

"I am not a nark."

"Your dad's a cop." _Thank you, Captain Obvious._

"That doesn't mean I'm a nark."

"Bella," James began again, and I could sense his change in tactic coming. "Okay, fine, you're not a nark. But know what else I've noticed?"

"No." The word was curt. It aptly expressed my annoyance. It was meant to be a brush-off. It didn't accomplish what I wanted it to.

"I'm the only guy you talk to you. Why is that?"

I didn't answer him, trying to subtly hint that I really don't talk to him at all. It's more like he confronts me, and I have to deal with his shit.

"I have a theory," he announced.

"Oh yeah?" I muttered sarcastically. "What's that?"

"You're a dyke."

I definitely wasn't going to respond to that.

"You're a dyke," he continued, as if he felt he had struck the truth and needed to reveal it further, "and you hate men. I'm the exception, of course." He winked at me, and I wanted to puke. "And you wanna mate with Kim."

"What the hell?" _What does 'you want to mate with Kim' even mean?_

"You wanna get it on with Kim. I get it. She's hot, you're hot. It's a perfect match."

"You're an asshole, do you know that?"

"Hey, fuck you, Swan. You think you're a princess or some shit, but you're not. You're not fucking better than anyone else here." He shoved my shoulder with his fingers. It hurt a lot more than I expected it to.

"Shut up and get the hell away from me," I growled. I was finally at my locker, and I put all of my attention toward getting my combination correct.

"No, you shut up. You piss me off, you know that?" He leaned against the locker beside mine, totally loving the fact that I was seeing red.

"Aw, that makes me sad. I thought we were friends," I whined mockingly.

"Jesus, Bella. You are such a fucking dyke. You really do fit the image, you know. You've got such tiny tits. Why the fuck do you even wear a bra?"

I bit back the tears that come with anger and humiliation and tried to think of a comeback. "I don't know. You wear pants, don't you?"

I looked him right in the eye and waited him for him to understand the insult I just threw at him. It took him a little while, but when he got it he looked incredibly angry. I suddenly regretted even trying to stand my ground.

He shoved me into my locker as he began to walk away. "Fuck you, bitch. You don't even know what a dick looks like."

The combination lock pierced just under my ribcage when he pushed me into it. _Ow._ I took a few deep, shaky breaths to calm down before I finished opening my locker. I reached up to the shelf on top and pulled out my history textbook. The second I looked at it, I knew something was wrong with it.

Someone drew a huge penis in thick black marker on the cover. I opened it up and began to flip through it, and saw that there were huge sections of pages ripped out.

_James!_

That fucker. The rage in me went past boiling point. I shoved the now useless book back in the locker, slammed it closed, and began to stalk after him. I was going to finish him off once and for all.

He _knew_ about the history exam and essay I have due next week. I don't know how, but he knew. Maybe he has a friend in that class. Doesn't matter, I'm putting him in the hospital before they cart me off to jail…

I could see his head above everyone else's in the hall. "JAMES!" I shouted.

He kept walking. He didn't look back.

"Don't walk away, asshole!"

People were staring at me with amused faces. Fights are nothing in this school. They're entertainment; gossip. They happen a couple of times a week sometimes. They can even be cause for celebration if someone you hate is suspended because of one.

"JAMES!" I screeched, my voice breaking in the middle. I wanted the confrontation now. I wanted the revenge. I had never been so angry or violent before in my life.

He started laughing.

I was getting closer to him, seeing as I was speed walking. He kept going at his leisurely pace, completely unafraid of me.

"You _fucking_ asshole! Come back here!"

I turned to some girl and started to steal her textbook from her. I was close enough to throw it at his head…

"Miss Swan!"

I stopped, mid-jerk, and let the scared looking girl have her book back. I turned toward the sound of the voice, where a dozen other people also happened to be looking, and saw Mr. Voltrain, my history teacher, looking absolutely lethal from the doorway of his classroom.

_Damnit. I can't catch a break in this place._

"Get in here right now!" he nearly shouted. I had never heard him say anything stern to a student before, never mind raise his voice the way he was doing now. I was instantly afraid.

I tried to save face by still appearing mad, storming off into the room until I heard Mr. Voltrain shut the door behind us in the empty room. The second the knob clicked I started sniffling.

"Bella," I heard Mr. Voltrain say softly behind me. "You know why they treat you like that, don't you?"

I slowly turned to face him, covering my mouth with the back of my hand as my sobs started to take over, and began the conversation that would bring me to St. Bartholomew's…

* * *

The textbook incident was the turning point of my life. James' teasing had never gone so far before; I had never gotten so angry before. Whenever I thought back on that part of my day I felt downright embarrassed. Ashamed, even. Little did James know that my small B cup chest would come in handy when it came time for me to hide them under Ace wraps.

I reflected more on how different life was at Chelmsford High on the bus ride back home, feeling more exhausted than usual. I realized I was similar to Edward in one respect: We both had to deal with people who had tried to sabotage us. And it also seemed that it might not have been smart to tell Aaron Matthews that I could meet the right people on my own. I might have gained another James-like enemy.


	5. A Mistake

**Chapter 4: A Mistake**

The bus ride to and from school was not a long and arduous journey. It was not filled with terrifying switches in bus lines, or sidewalks fraught with ankle-breaking potholes. It was long, for sure, but it was not demanding. However, by the time I got home that second day I was nearing a state of narcolepsy.

What made my exhaustion worse was my decision to take a quick side trip to the local Blockbuster where I work and pick up my paycheck. Any other day where it felt like my immune system was crashing I would skip this extra excursion, but I _needed_ that money like peanut butter needs jelly. No, that didn't seem a strong enough comparison. I needed that money like Reagan needed people to believe he wasn't a crook. Or even better, I needed my paycheck like a whore needs birth control.

Why was money so important? One might guess it would be my significantly lowered economic status. And that would be the normal, safe assumption. But it would be oh so very wrong.

I have . . . . _things . . . . _I need to buy. Things that, for all my colorful language, I could not bring myself to even think about.

Needless to say, once I made it to my shabby home my precious paycheck was wrinkling under my vice-like grip. I felt as if I had to concentrate on holding every atom of my being together, for fear that I would disintegrate on the pavement.

I may have been exaggerating my condition to myself. I only did it so that I could be convincing enough to Charlie later on when I would make my excuse about possibly missing school. Because I knew this feeling, this fatigue and familiar churning in my abdomen.

It meant that Aunt Flow was coming for a visit, and that bitch has the worst timing.

My steps faltered on the rickety staircase to my bedroom, but I made it. The nap signals that my bed was sending me were too strong to ignore. I crumbled into my sheets, grateful to give in to my tiredness.

Hours later, I woke to the sound of my wallpaper jerkily ripping itself from the wall. Stumbling out of bed, with my eyes half-open, I made my way over to the portion of wall by the door. I stuck my hand out, slapping the wall, before I slid my palm up on the paper, trying to force it back in place.

It was staying, for now.

Maybe it was this lingering, oppressive summer heat that was causing the walls to peel apart. I couldn't wait for the cold chill of autumn to kick in.

But it was a fucking catch-22. The heat had the walls sweating like a pig, and the cold made the wallpaper--and the whole room--as cold and rigid as ice. There was no reprieve from either extreme. I cursed that law of nature that said hot air rises and the clouds for creating a freezing climate in the winter.

When I finally opened the paycheck I was pleased with the amount, despite that I still felt like the government took half of it—One-hundred eighty dollars and seventy-two cents. I wanted to use eighty of it to shop for _things_, but I knew that Charlie might only be comfortable letting me use fifty.

I reasoned that I should get over myself. I'm Ben Cheney now. If I can get around school in my guy get-up, I can at the very least think about the things.

I started with the simple stuff.

I need more 'guy' clothing—boxers and such. If Edward is going to catch my with my pants around my ankles again, then I can at least have on normal underwear.

Accessories such as shower gel and certain shampoos might not hurt either. They'll help me cover all my bases—I'll look like a guy, and I'll even smell like one.

Now for the hard part. Hopefully I could avoid this by finding something else, but I was thinking that I may have to buy a . . . dildo . . . with a strap-on . . . to pack my pants. How much do those even cost?

I tried to imagine it. Me, with a rubber (is that what they're made of?) penis just hanging, dangling in between my legs. With the boxers will it smack up against my thighs when I walk or run? Tighty whiteys were not an option, mostly because I had this idea in my head that they weren't cool. And I didn't care if I didn't have any friends, I could at least be cool. I could buy those boxer-brief things that hug my legs, that keep the_ thing_ from wiggling around. Because, and this was a sudden and very awful thought, was it possible to chafe the inside of my thighs with the fake penis?

Experimentation was totally necessary. It was time to apply the scientific method to real life.

The Purpose: To ascertain the movements of a "dick" between my legs, and to see if I'm even comfortable with it there.

The Hypothesis: I would most likely freak the fuck out, but it was essential that I go through with it. Also, I would probably not get a true sense of what a penis is like, unless I wanted to go bankrupt and have surgery. But! The items around my room might be accurate enough to satisfy my curiosity.

The procedure, I decided, was simple enough. I had heard from crass movies and television shows that guys jerk off into socks. It was apparently cleaner that way. So, taking the hint, I went over to my sock drawer. I had a couple of tube socks that went high enough above the ankle, and plenty of shorter ankle socks. I began by taking the latter, and stuffing them into the former. The result was a lumpy, yet cylindrical, tube sock that somewhat resembled a penis.

I took a deep breath. Okay. . . _okay_. . . That wasn't so bad. Now all I had to do is. . . .

_Holy fucking shit._

I looked at the sock dick I was pinching in between my legs with my thighs and could feel my face go pale. I walked bow-legged to my full length mirror and took in the view. My stance made it seem like I had a pole stuck up my ass; my face contorting in an expression of mild disgust and pain. Nevertheless, those three words were the only thing my brain could come up with. _Holy. Fucking. Shit._

_Nope. No thank you. No penis for Bella._

I grabbed the cottony shaft and threw it across the room. I stumbled backward into the corner opposite the six inch long sock. _That_ was. . . I didn't know what that was. Did I like it? I didn't think so. It was too strange. I felt perverted. But there was something arousing about it that surprised me, some hidden aspect of my sexuality that was a secret before now was revealed. Though it was still uncomfortable, the short experience showed me that I was intrigued, curious about the opposite sex.

Maybe this would be something I needed to practice, kind of like an instrument, before I was good at it.

That was a strange thought—that this was something I had to get good at. Most of the time it seemed to me that I was struggling with the question of maturity. Was pretending to be a boy the mature way to go about this? I always recalled Mr. Voltrain's words to me whenever I began to question myself, and then I would switch my wording around. I would begin to ask myself, _was I immature for not being able to handle everything that comes with being a boy?_

It was much too confusing, going around in dizzying circles in my head. And it was too late, anyway. For whatever reasons I had decided to do this, I couldn't discount them. They were still important to me, and if I second guessed myself I would crash and burn quickly. I knew shouldn't think it about any further than reaffirming my goal every once in awhile.

I freaking needed to get my life back on track. I needed to be able to feel that life could be normal for me, that I wasn't the girl with the dead mom who was struggling to make ends meet. I needed college to accomplish all of that. And if it meant going about it in the most abnormal, ridiculous, fucking stupid way possible, then so be it.

_Look at it as an interesting take on responsibility_, Mr. Voltrain had said.

Right. . . responsibility. How dumb was I for listening to him?

In the middle of my musings I heard the rumble of the squad car's engine die down in the driveway. Charlie was home. I rushed downstairs to start the dinner I forgot to make.

"Hey, Dad!" I called out. I heard the sound of his shuffling feet, the front door closing, and the _whoosh_ of his gun belt as he slid it off his body, before he acknowledged me.

"Hey, Bella. How was your day learning with the _boys_?" he asked somewhat bitterly. He doesn't like my going to St. Bart's at all, but he was trying to be supportive. He knew how much I wanted it and knew how much I was scared.

"It was fine." I held off on telling my leg shaving incident, he definitely wouldn't find that funny. I also figured I would save him a heart attack by not telling him about the acrobatics I had to pull off in gym either. No father wants to hear that their little girl was surrounded by half naked guys who almost discovered that she has a vagina.

Yes, I was definitely maintaining my father's health by keeping details about school life light.

"That's good," he sighed, and dropped down onto a chair at our kitchen table.

"So Dad," I began, twisting away from the pot I had just filled with water. "I went to Blockbuster and got my paycheck today."

"Oh yeah? How much?"

I told him the amount on the check. I realized that I could lie and tell him there was only a hundred dollars on it, but he would figure it out when my wage and the hours he knew I worked didn't match up in his head. And besides, I just can't lie to my dad.

"Oh good," Charlie mumbled in response to the dollar amount.

"And Dad?" I asked tentatively, avoiding looking at him by placing the pot on the stove and turning the knob to high.

"Yeah, Bella?"

"Can I use eighty dollars of it to buy some more guy things?"

"Eighty dollars for guy things?" He frowned, scanning my face. I forced myself to look him square in the eye.

"Yeah, you know, to blend in a little more at school." _To blend in ways I knew he doesn't want to think about._

"No. Not eighty dollars." He shook his head slowly, determined.

"But Dad!" I protested.

"Bella, what about the bills? Groceries? The rent?"

I sighed. I knew all too well how important my own contribution to the household was now that Charlie wasn't making as much as he once did. "Okay, okay. I know. How about fifty?"

"Twenty-five," he bargained, giving me a pointed glance, as if it would compel me to accept the offer.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. I had a feeling that twenty-five dollars wouldn't cover boxers, a dildo, and various other guy knick knacks. Of course, I couldn't explain to Charlie what items would be purchased with fifty dollars. Still, I did not want to haggle for a smaller allowance and forgo the strap-on option just yet.

I looked up when I heard him let out a quiet groan.

"What?"

"Bella, why do you have to draw attention to it?"

I stared at him with utter confusion. The whole point to buying the guy things was to _not_ draw attention to anything odd about me.

He continued his grievance when he saw that I didn't understand what he was getting at. "You keep doing that thing with your neck—you keep rubbing it. All it does is make me miss your beautiful hair."

I laughed weakly, trying not to show him how much I missed my hair too. I hadn't even noticed my palm move up to anxiously massage my neck. "C'mon Dad, I thought every father wants a son."

Charlie didn't like my lame attempt at humor. I could see the pain in his eyes, and I thought I heard him mumble "Not like this."

"Anyway Dad, it's my paycheck," I reminded him, changing the conversation to our original topic. He got up from his chair and walked over to the refrigerator. Whenever we have a conversation like this, he needs to find some way to distract himself, to avert his eyes from mine.

"I know it's your paycheck, Bella," he said to the milk and yogurt. "But we need as much of it as we can get."

"Still, just this once I could have a little more to buy stuff with." I moved from my place across the kitchen to stand closer to him, to have him see the necessity on my face when he turned around, so that he would have no choice but to give in.

"Bella, why does it have to be now? Why do you need the money—the things— now?" he complained.

He didn't see me come up behind him. He swung his left arm out to gesture while he spoke; his right hand occupied by a beer can. The last thing I saw was the ruby of his class ring glinting at me before I shut my eyes, too unprepared to move out of the way. I fell backwards onto something solid and sharp.

I heard a hiss escape my lips as the pain sent a shiver down my spine. I squeezed my eyelids together tightly, hoping that the darkness would help dissolve the throbbing sensation.

When I opened my eyes, the kitchen table was at the strangest angle.

I blinked a couple of times until my eyes came into focus. That's when I realized I was looking _up_ at the table.

"Bella! Jesus! Don't stand behind me like that!" Charlie scolded gently. His face came into view as he helped me up into a chair.

"Sorry," I mumbled. The movement to an upright position had me feeling like my head was a spinning top. My right cheek felt warm and I could feel the blood pulsating strong where Charlie's ring connected with it. I recognized the same feeling of warmth and a wound pounding in time with my heartbeat at the back of my head.

"Bella, honey, you're bleeding. A lot." His brow puckered as his fingertips examined my skull. "I hate to say it, but I think we need to take a trip to the hospital. You might need stitches."

I groaned. "Are you sure? Can't we just wait until the bleeding stops and go from there?"

"Bella, it's your head. I'm not taking any chances."

I grumbled my assent and allowed my dad to use my elbow to lead me out to his car.

I could just forget all hopes of having a sizeable allowance from my paycheck now, it would all go towards this—in my opinion—superfluous medical bill.

I would have to perfect my sock technique instead.

* * *

**Edward's POV**

Who misses the third day of school? Seriously? It's the third day—there's nothing going on in class to make people want to skip. The weather's still good, no frost in the air to make someone sick.

It's not that bad, so who misses the third day?

Ben Cheney. That's who.

I had spent all Thursday scanning for him amongst the crowds of students in the halls. I thought I would get my chance to see him during lunch hour, but his shaggy, chopped brown hair never showed.

"Dude, who do you keep looking for?" Emmett had asked me as my head swiveled around once again, searching.

"No one," I muttered. I hadn't wanted to admit how Ben's absence had me creating a million questions in my mind.

"Dude, Jasper. I totally pissed Eddie off the other day."

"How?" Jasper had asked. He was the quiet one out of the three of us, and always got a great kick out of us going at it. He's just happy we leave him alone.

"I told him his dick was like the Ferris wheel at the Pier."

Jasper chuckled. "Explain that to me. I don't get it."

"You know, his damn balls are so boring. Slow. Lame. Like that huge ass Ferris wheel."

I turned to join in the conversation, ready to defend myself. "At least I'm huge," I smirked.

"And how do _you_ know his balls are slow and lame?" Jasper asked, raising a taunting eyebrow full of implications.

Emmett hadn't been phased by that. "Dude, I just guessed. No one knows, you know that. Eddie won't put it in anyone."

I had rolled my eyes at that comment as he cackled to himself. It was true, and Emmett found it hilarious. I was glad Ben didn't hear it though. For some reason, I wanted him to see me as that guy that gets whoever he wants. And I was definitely embarrassed the other day when Emmett called my junk lame.

My junk is never lame, nor is it boring, no matter how little it interacts with the opposite sex. It sees just the right amount of action with my hand.

It was Friday now, and I was beginning to think that Ben Cheney was just a part of my imagination. I still hoped he was real, however. I found myself sweeping the pews of the cathedral with my eyes despite the fact that I told myself to give up.

_You're not even friends with the guy._

I also hoped that that could change. Emmett and Jasper are great friends, but I knew I was still holding back from them. I didn't understand them completely, or they didn't understand me. _I don't understand myself sometimes._ Either way, I was still looking for more. And I couldn't shake the bizarre psychic feeling that told me to expect Ben to change all of that.

There were so many uncertainties I had about myself while I was simultaneously trying to prove to others that I was certain. Certain about what, I didn't know, obviously. It was incredibly moronic of me to presume that another human being could change any of my doubts.

And any doubts I had about Ben not showing up for the fourth day of school were erased when I saw him in gym. He breezed into the locker room, his eyes barely lifting themselves from the floor. He swept through faster than the janitor's broom, got into his locker, and speeded off to the bathroom. When he came back out, he kept nervously scratching under his eye. I decided to say hello.

"What's up?" I said casually.

His eyes darted from my face to the locker several times. I wondered if he'd heard me. Finally, he looked me straight in the eye, but still seemed fidgety, his fingertips strangely lingering under his eye.

He gave me a quick, short nod before he shoved his clothes away, his hand forced to fall from his face.

That's when I saw the green and yellow bruise that looked like crayon had been smudged under his eye.

I wanted to ask what had happened, but Ben flew out so fast my head was spinning from trying to comprehend the bruise and his behavior. I followed him out to the gym, where he shot me a few wary, dodgy glances before distancing himself as far away from me as possible, joining a completely different group for the entire lesson. I wondered what the brush off was all about. I didn't realize he hated me.

I watched him curiously all through class. He was awkward when we were running laps. His form reminded me of a flapping chicken. It was as if he didn't know what arms were for whenever he tried to catch the footballs we were passing back and forth. Physical activity had never looked so out of place in a person before. He was uncomfortable, clumsy, and jittery to the extreme. I tried to catch his glance, but he refused to even peek my way.

Maybe he has Hodgkin's. It didn't seem like it the first couple of days, but it definitely did now. It would explain all the nervous twitching movements. The constant shifting, looking around. Maybe he doesn't have some terminal disease, maybe he's baked. Maybe he's flying so high that he's freaking out about how the colors seem to be shifting around him. He wouldn't be the first.

But for the all fidgeting, he still wouldn't look at me. So I looked at him. It was his bruise that would stare back at me. After class, I followed him with my eyes to the bathroom, where he quickly dashed off to once he had his clothes in hand. I made to go after him, and then stopped myself.

_Gah. . . It's only girls that do the whole bathroom confrontation thing. I need to lay off. _

He could be changing in the bathroom for any numbers of reasons I didn't want to discover. . . an overactive bladder, discoloration of certain areas, or shrinking of those areas when exposed. . . .

When he finally did leave the bathroom and put his stuff away, I was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, directly below the window. No one else was around, he must have realized I wanted to talk to him.

I had never been so thoroughly avoided in my life.

Ben had the nerve to glance my way before turning and walking out, like I was standing there alone for my health. Yeah, right.

I was standing there to figure out what was wrong with _his_ health. I couldn't help but notice how pale he seemed leaving the bathroom, the sheen of nervous sweat on his brow, the lines of purple under his eyes. I couldn't help but stare at his appearance, the lashes that landed just above his cheek when his gaze was trained on the floor, the oval shape of his eyes as they darted about, the curve to his mouth, the natural soft pout to his lips. Everything about him just seemed so _delicate_ now that that bruise was marring his features.

Then it clicked: Ben lives in Chelmsford. _Chelmsford._ The land of gang bangers and prostitution, where violence runs easier than the water and drugs flow faster than blood through a person's system. There were many poetic ways to think of it, but when it came down to it, Chelmsford was the definition of ghetto.

Someone must've, I concluded, hit him. But since it appeared that he only came out of it with a shiner that was now dissolving on his face, Ben must also know how to handle himself.

Well aware that there was plenty of time before my next class, I hurried out after Ben. It didn't take much to catch up to him. For all his hurrying around the locker room, he was now walking lethargically, one shoulder slumped against the wall, dragging his body forward at a snail's pace.

I approached slowly, my steps only a beat quicker than his. I had never actively pursued someone like this, in hopes that they would become my friend. I had no idea what to do. With Emmett and Jasper, we just kind of were friends immediately. We saw each other standing alone, and got to talking. That's it. No stalking one another in the halls after one of us avoided the glance of the other in class.

"Hey Ben," I said slowly, coming up to his side.

His hand immediately went to scratch under his right eye. A weak attempt, if you ask me. "Oh hey," he replied unenergetically, and pushed himself off the wall.

"So did we scare you off the other day?"

"What?" Ben mumbled, his voice confused and barely audible.

"You didn't join our group in gym. I blame it on Emmett. He can be a real prick," I supplied, trying to seem relaxed about it. In reality, I hated how desperate I was to know what was going on with him.

Ben smirked marginally in response. "No, Emmett's cool."

My intestines mashed together. So _I_ was the reason he ignored us in class. I wondered if that was something that was too awkward to joke about when Ben interrupted the weird silence between us.

"I, uh, didn't realize you guys wanted me to be in your group. I'll join you next class to make up for it. Uh. . . see you. . . later?"

He looked up at me, still stupidly scratching under his eye, looking for confirmation that groups in gym were all I wanted to know about. But I couldn't let him get off so easily, I was curious about the bruise. So I did something even stupider than Ben trying to hide his bruise by itching at it, I smacked his hand away from his face.

The moment I did, though, he flinched, and I instantly felt bad about that. Someone definitely hit him. I ignored all the conflicting feelings swirling inside me, and moved forward towards my purpose.

"What's up?" I demanded, echoing my greeting from earlier.

"Nothing?" Ben said shakily, and moved his hand back to his face. I smacked it back from covering his cheek again.

"No, what's up with your face?"

"Oh, it's nothing." He laughed weakly, and paused. "I fell down."

An icy feeling trickled down my spine. Ben finally gave me one of his polished responses, and I didn't like it.

"What? Do you accept my answer?" Ben joked, his eyebrows twisting as he looked up at my frown. "Trust me, I'm not cool enough to get knocked down in a fight."

I snorted, and Ben seemed to relax. He didn't realize that I wasn't laughing at his self-deprecating joke, rather, I had realized the irony that he was nerdy enough to be pushed around.

"Yeah sure," I muttered.

"What do you even care?" Ben asked, sending me a dark glance. I stood stunned, frozen by his sudden anger. "Not like you can stop me from getting in the way—"

"In the way of who?" I interrupted.

"I didn't say it was in the way of a person," he sneered, and I felt my anger growing under the inciting flame of his.

"There's nothing for a person to get in the way of," I retorted, "except for another person."

"You can get in the way of a table. It happens all the time!" Ben said a little indignantly.

"To who?"

"To me!" he cried with a note of hysteria, and clutched his side, wincing in pain.

"Did they get you in the stomach too?" I wondered, pointing to where Ben's fingers were gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"No! No one got me in the stomach, it's just cramps," he moaned quietly. Abruptly, he dropped his hand from his side and stood straighter, his face blanching.

"Cramps?" I questioned, too puzzled by that comment to focus on his reaction. "You got cramps from gym? We were just jogging in circles."

His eyes searched my face frantically, confusing me to no end. "I'm out of shape," he said mechanically, calming down.

It was another tame, controlled reply, and it was beginning to frustrate me.

"You're kidding," I snapped. "You look like you're completely in shape."

"Just because—" he began, seething. Yet I didn't get to hear his pathetic excuse for the people who had tried to beat him up, Principal Rogers cut him off.

"Oho! Look who it is! It's my two most prized students!" he exclaimed, puffing his way over to us.

I barely looked at him, I was locked in a heated stare-down with Ben.

"Hello sir," Ben greeted him tightly.

Not to be outdone, I welcomed him also. "How're you doing, _sir_?"

"Oh just fine," he beamed. I cocked an eyebrow at Ben, knowing I was now presenting an aura of someone completely at ease, while he still looked like his eyeballs were going to combust in anger.

"I wanted to speak to you, Edward," Rogers continued calling from down the hall, "about the valedictorian track. Just briefly," he smiled, waving for me to stand closer to him, probably so that he wouldn't have to walk the whole distance over to me.

"How are things so far, Mr. Cheney?" Rogers asked Ben politely as I walked away from him.

"Fine. Thank you, sir," Ben answered quietly, now appearing as calm as I was. I wanted to shake him, though. We both knew he wasn't fine, and his docile attitude was aggravating. I wanted to help him, but he was rejecting my efforts. I shot him one last glare over my shoulder as I turned to speak to the principal. He was pretending to rub the bags under his eyes again.

There was a strange swelling in my chest at the sight of it this time. Like a balloon expanding and cutting off my air supply, I could feel my own indignation growing. I would figure out a way to get people off his back, whether he wanted me to or not.

* * *

**Bella's POV**

I huffed out all the air from my lungs once Edward walked away. I felt like I could actually breathe for once. Most people accepted my brush offs and moved on, except for James. But Edward didn't seem like James at all, and was much harder to repel than I expected. He was like a little dog that kept humping my leg, and I couldn't shake him off.

It was almost as if I didn't _want_ to shake him off, and then I remembered the abrupt way he knocked my hand away from covering my bruise, and I changed my mind.

I watched him talk with Rogers for a moment. Edward was smiling congenially, Rogers' chins were flapping away earnestly while he spoke. It made sense then, why Edward kept budding into my business. If he's the principal's favorite (which appeared to be very true at the moment), then he must at least think, nearly in the same way Aaron must think, that he is the king around here. He must think that he has some right to watch over the Felton winner, especially since Aaron didn't sink his teeth into me.

After a brief minute where I got caught up in the sudden realization of how Edward's jaw line seemed to be chiseled from perfectly smooth stone, I stormed past him and the principal.

I had told Edward that I had cramps. Cramps! Of all the stupid things to say, of all the other explanations I could have come up with, that was what I let slip.

The damn things snuck up on me too, like a snake in the jungle. In the middle of a fiery defense of my accident-prone self, I had suddenly felt my abdomen twist and contract painfully.

I scurried away down the hall, until I came to another bathroom at the other end. I whisked myself into an empty stall, ignoring the critical glance of a very tiny looking underclassman. He was apparently under the impression that I was about to take a major shit, as I heard the door swing shut after him as he left the vicinity immediately.

Perfect.

_Button and zipper be damned_, I thought as I yanked my pants down over my hips in a frenzy. The sudden urge to pee, combined with the realization that I was way over the time limit for using a tampon, had me disregarding the usual mode of undressing oneself.

I opted for a pad once the tampon was safely in the toilet, its presence about to be flushed away forever. With those things, you don't have to worry about getting Toxic Shock Syndrome and dying. And I'm pretty positive that others would comment on how it's biologically impossible for Ben to die of TSS.

Giving myself a hard look in the mirror as I washed my hands, I appreciated how the somewhat squalid appearance I gained after my mother's death made the features that would give me away as a girl nearly imperceptible. Someone would have to know me as Bella first in order to see the female in me while I was dressed as Ben.

There were dark smudges under each one of my eyes that seemed permanently painted there with a wide brush. My once healthy, full cheeks that sat high on the bones beneath them were now sallow. There was a dip in each of my cheeks that made it look like my face was sinking inward towards the back of my throat. My eyes were muddy brown instead of shining chocolate (or at least I imagined that that's what they once were). My lips hadn't had any of their full, puffiness deflated over the last couple of years, but they were perpetually set in a grim line. They were no longer soft and kissable, but hard and stern. I hadn't truly smiled in what felt like almost a year, and therefore my mouth was inflexible, the muscles aching when forced to change from anything other than a dour or angry expression.

Unfriendly. That's how I came across, which made Edward's attempts to be friendly with me even more baffling. I thought I was unapproachable.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed Jasper's silent greeting as we passed each other in the hall outside the bathroom door.

Jasper keeps his distance, why can't Edward? What did all of those stares he gave me today even mean? I felt like a piece of tissue paper barely able to conceal the object wrapped beneath it. Edward was watching me, almost in the same way the portrait girl was, except he seemed a tad more _incensed_.

"_WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT!!?"_ a voice screeched from the bathroom.

I hadn't made it far down the hall when Jasper came barreling out of the bathroom, looking as if he just saw a ghost.

"Ben! Jesus H. Christ, Ben. Did you _see_ that? In there? Did you see _it_?"

I was perplexed, to say the least. Jasper was standing there like a madman, with his blonde hair tousled into his face, his blue eyes wide with panic. It unfortunately did not escape my notice that his hands were hurriedly zipping his fly back up. . . . He was in too much of a rush to get out of there and spread the news, whatever that was.

"See what?" I inquired warily.

"THAT!" he bellowed, pointing an excusatory finger at the bathroom door. "Did you not see it? You have to see it!"

He didn't give me a choice. He dragged me forward, back into the bathroom.

Back past the mirror where I had just examined myself.

Back into the stall I had left not five minutes before. . . .

"How the _fuck_ is it even possible for _that _to be there?" Jasper asked in a whisper, visibly shaking at my side.

. . . . so that I could stare at the bloody tampon that apparently refused to make it past the S-bend, and was now floating mockingly in the bowl of the toilet.


	6. Aftermath

**Chapter 5: Aftermath **

**Jasper's POV**

It was a day like any other day, except that it wasn't. The impossible had occurred. I couldn't exactly call it a miracle, although that's the word that comes closest.

Because female products—BLOODY female products—should not exist in an all boy's school, because _vaginas_ don't exist. They shouldn't be swimming along in the toilet water, trying to prove that anything is possible.

There are some things, things like this, that just _can't_ be possible.

I stared unflinching at the violent monstrosity in the stall, my hands frozen while unzipping my pants, for a good five seconds before my brain restarted and suddenly it was all I could do not to regurgitate the contents of my weak stomach.

"What in the hell is that?!" I shouted, looking around wildly for a response, but there was no one else in the bathroom.

This was a code red situation, all of my senses were on high alert. I needed to make sure that I wasn't hallucinating.

I bolted back out through the door, searching for anyone, _anyone_, who could explain to me what was going on in the toilet. I felt like I was in a No Man's Land between what I thought I knew and the science fiction-like stuff I had unintentionally stumbled upon.

"Ben!" I shouted out the name of the first person I saw. "Jesus H. Christ, Ben. Did you see that? In there? Did you see it?"

By the look on his face it was obvious he didn't see it. His guarded and alarmed stare drifted down to my crotch, where I realized my pants were still unzipped. Fifteen seconds ago I was about to drop a load. Now it was as if my shit had dissolved inside of me by some sort of magic trick.

Ben's eyes locked with mine again while I zipped myself back up. "See what?" he asked slowly.

"THAT!" I roared, gesturing to the insurgent hiding in the bathroom. "Did you not see it? You have to see it!"

I lurched forward and dragged him to the scene of the crime.

"How the _fuck_ is it even possible for _that_ to be there?" I asked him with a sort of reverent hope, wishing he held all the answers.

"Oh no," he muttered.

I laughed bitterly. "Oh yes."

He was white as a sheet as he stumbled against the wall opposite the toilet. I could see the whites of his eyes surrounding his corneas as he stared at the offending product, they had widened so much. I felt just as sick as he looked.

I began formulating a plan. I obviously wasn't crazy, if Ben could see it too. There had to be some explanation, some reason why _that_ was there. There was the possibility that St. Bart's accepted transvestites, but as soon as I thought it the notion just felt wrong. _This is a _Catholic_ school_.

"Ben," I said, mumbling under my breath. "Ben, we have to alert some authority figure. . . secure the perimeter. . ."

My very core was wobbling as the harsh reality of the situation hit me. Wild ideas that became even wilder the more I paid attention to them flew through my brain. It took all I had to get those words out.

"What?" he hissed, taking a shaky step towards me. "Why?"

"Because, we've been ambushed."

The whole situation was obvious. Either we were clearly in the midst of uncovering a transvestite—something that I didn't want to do—or, more likely, we had discovered that some guy has been sneaking his girlfriend in for an illegal visit.

"No we haven't," Ben disagreed. "We should just flush it, forget we ever saw it."

"Forget we ever saw it?" I looked over Ben's scared and trembling form and thought I understood what he was saying. "Listen, I know this is the freakiest shit, but flushing it won't make it really go away. I mean, it's burned into my retinas, I don't know about you."

"Oh, it's burned all right," he muttered.

"See what I mean, then?! We need to get to the bottom of this. We've been infiltrated."

"Infiltrated?" he repeated weakly.

"Think about it: That thing in there. . . that's a. . . a tampon, I think."

Ben began laughing. It was a hysteric sound. He looked at me with pleading eyes, completely devastated that I had dragged him in here and introduced him to the Twilight Zone.

"Hey, it's all right," I assured him. "Dude, calm down. Don't worry about it. Somehow someone's snuck their girlfriend in here, but we'll find him. . . and her. I don't know how they managed it, maneuvered her way in here, but. . . " I trailed off, trying to think of a plan to find the perpetrator. I needed extra brain power.

Without a word, and a last furtive glance at Ben, I darted out into the hallway. Edward was the first person I saw, his back just having been clapped by the principal as they ended their conversation.

"Edward!"

His eyes darted up from the floor and frowned. "What?"

"Come quick, in the bathroom. You need to see this! Help us decide what to do!"

He took his time making his way down the hall, obviously not sensing the urgency of the matter. By the time we finally entered the bathroom together, Ben looked like he was falling apart at the seams, his hand covering his eyes as he used his forefinger and thumb to rub his temple.

"What's wrong?" Edward asked.

Ben jabbed an angry finger at the toilet.

Still confused, Edward turned to me, asking again, "Okay. . . What's wrong?"

"Edward, go look in the stall," I instructed.

I felt like I was destroying everyone's innocence today.

Not even three seconds later Edward was backing out of the stall, face full of shock. "What in the. . . ?"

"I know, man. We've been infiltrated." I shook my head and began to divulge my theories. "We're either dealing with a cross dresser or someone has gone all stealth on us and is bringing their girlfriend around to all their classes."

Ben was still rubbing his head. Edward had turned into stone, still staring at the toilet bowl. Sensing that I would be seen and heard, but not interrupted, I continued.

"I'm thinking we should tell a teacher or something. It _is_ their job to deal with something like this, they should be the ones to handle it. Then we could focus on purging our minds of this. . . image, while the principal takes care of this behind the scenes. Unless. . . unless. . ."

I paused, as a whole new wave of theories revealed themselves to me.

"Unless they are the ones in on it! That freaking windbag Rogers would totally be in on this! Especially if some parent was paying him thousands in order to keep it quiet! Jesus. . . Edward, we need to divide the school in quadrants. You, me, Emmett, and even Ben here can each take one, and we can patrol the bathrooms in our sections in between classes until we catch this person. She just can't go leaving her shit around like this and not expect to be hunted. Stupid bitch, oh my God, I don't think my eyes will ever be the same again."

I hadn't noticed, in my slight craze, that Edward and Ben were now staring each other down. I couldn't see Ben's expression very well, but Edward's was determined.

"Jazz," he began, "look, we're not going to divide and conquer."

"But—"

"The most we're going to do is tell a teacher."

"But Edward, that's a fucking female insurgent in there!"

He sighed heavily. "Insurgent? What about that is revolting?"

I shook my head at him. "Listen to yourself, man. It's completely revolting."

It was Edward's turn to shake his head this time. "No, no, that's not what I meant. An insurgent is a person who revolts against a political authority. That. . . that tampon is not revolting. . . in that sense."

"You asshole," I muttered. "Stop being too smart for own goddamn good and realize that the girl who left that there has to deal with the consequences! She's a. . ." I sputtered, looking for the right word to describe the person leaving unwanted bits of herself behind. "She's an interloper!"

Edward stared at me like it was insane that I should know that word. I tried again.

"She's an intruder, man."

"Fine, I agree," he said shortly. "But I'm not going to all sleuth on this girl and pretend to be Sherlock and Watson with you."

Cornered, I looked to Ben for help.

"Ben, c'mon, you think we need to investigate this, too, right?"

* * *

**Bella's POV**

I contemplated Jasper's question for longer than I probably should have. I should have had my answer ready, what with all that time I had to think about what I should do next while Jasper went on a rampage, but I didn't. There was really only a couple of thoughts my mind had.

_Well, Mary showed the world immaculate conception. I, without pointing out the fact that it was indeed me, showed this school miraculous menstruation. _

_ Goddamn Playtex!_

After that, my brain only vaguely registered that bringing Edward into this wasn't good, and that I needed to shut up Jasper fast.

"No," I finally said. "We shouldn't investigate this."

"See?" Edward smirked victoriously.

"You two are insane!" Jasper exclaimed, exasperated.

A tense silence settled over the three of us while we stewed over our options. My heart, until now, had kept a steady, normal pace. I hadn't felt it tha-thumping away through all the earlier trauma. But now that there was a dense quiet amongst us I could feel it beating faster and faster. I didn't see any way out of letting them find a teacher, but it just couldn't happen. The tampon could not be investigated.

"Whatever," Jasper mumbled. "I'll go get someone, then. Probably Rogers, if he's there, his office is closest."

"NO!" I had lunged, screaming, before I could stop myself. My knee knocked into the edge of the porcelain bowl, my palm gripped the silver lever, and I pushed down, hard.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Jasper shouted, knocking into my shoulder. Edward squeezed in behind him, and together, we all watched the tampon disappear down the pipes.

"I—I don't know," I stuttered. So much for tact.

"You don't know? You don't know?! You just fucking flushed the evidence! _Oh my God_."

Jasper gave me the evilest eye I had ever seen while his hands attempted to tear his hair out in frustration. I looked to Edward for backup again, but there wasn't a desperate need to understand what I wanted from him this time, just a dazed sort of stare that told me I was completely on my own.

Just as a trapped animal cowers defensively in preparation for an attack, I slinked up against the wall, pushing my palms flat against the cool tile. "Look—sorry. I just. . . I just wanted it to be over."

And then I flew, deciding not to stick around for a shouting match, running with a loping grace I didn't know I possessed. The only problem was, I didn't have anywhere to run to, no place to hide.

Instinctually, it seemed, I first ran for the benches in the courtyard. Finding them filled with students unaware of the catastrophe I was leaving in my wake, I continued to head north. Once I made it to the end of the building, I slowed. My eyes closed in pain as I felt the stitch in my side building. With my breath coming in short, loud gasps, I rounded the edge of the wall and slumped down onto the mulch.

There were five stitches in the back of my head that also seemed to throb achingly once I finally stopped moving. I was at least thankful that no one could see the damage I inflicted upon the back of my head, and that the nickel-sized bruise on my cheek was already turning green and yellow. I wondered, while panting against the school, if the word easy was invented and applied to certain events just to trick people into going along with it, as if it would all be worth it in the end.

"Hey," said a gravelly voice, startling me from my thoughts.

"_Oh shit_," I breathed in shock, turning my neck to see a boy with neatly trimmed auburn hair gazing out at the nothingness of the scenery in front of him.

I recognized him as the boy from the random group I had joined in gym earlier. . . Gym, which now felt liked it was light years in the past. When I didn't say anything back to him, he finally turned to look at me, his face surprisingly square, with wide, narrowed eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his vocal chords sounding like they had been dragged over rocks. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh. Uh, nope. Don't worry 'bout it," I replied, still gasping a little bit for air. Technically, I had intruded on his solitude, but the way he spoke gave the impression of the opposite.

Before he spoke again, he lifted his hidden right hand from his side, and revealed the reason for his gruff voice: A cigarette.

"Name's Eric, if you don't remember," he kindly informed me. I didn't even bother to mention my name. The introductions I had gone through did a thorough job of teaching me that I was some sort of strange celebrity at this school. He didn't seem bothered by the lack of formalities, either, saying, "So, what'cha running from?"

I laughed humorlessly at the innocent question, and decided to answer honestly. "Myself."

"Ah," he sighed knowingly, his mouth in a bleak line. "They won't leave you alone?"

I narrowed my eyes at Eric as he turned to stare out in front of himself again. "What do you mean, 'they won't leave you alone'?"

"Aaron, Edward. . . They've been hovering over you the past couple of days, if you haven't noticed."

His remark made me wonder if Aaron and Edward were hovering around me in less obvious ways, and I felt a shiver of discomfort. "Yeah, I guess I noticed."

"They'll back off eventually," he assured me with a slow nod. "They just think they've got some sort of dibs on your loyalty, if not your friendship, being former Felton winners and all."

The use of the plural did not escape my notice. "Winners?" I said, looking for clarification.

"Edward and Aaron are both Felton winners. Didn't they tell you that? I always thought that was the first thing that came out of their mouths."

"No—well, Aaron mentioned it. Edward didn't."

"Edward didn't?" He raised a lofty brow. "That, actually, is a surprise. The teachers around here think of him as the second coming of Christ. He won the scholarship his freshman year."

He paused, as if that explained everything.

"Freshman year," Eric repeated after he saw that I was still in the dark. "No one wins it as a freshman. He was the first in, like, fifteen years or something. And his parents have loads of dough that they throw at this place like their money's going out of style. It's ridiculous. The whole damn idea is ridiculous."

Eric gained a dark and brooding gaze as he finished his explanation, taking a long drag. What he was bitter about, I had no idea. And frankly, I didn't really care, not when I had heard that Edward was a Felton winner like myself, and hadn't tried to advertise it.

"So Edward's a favorite around here," I said out loud, trying to summarize and understand some of what I heard.

"Oh yeah, total kiss-ass too. If you're not friends with him, or a Felton winner yourself, you don't stand a chance. You're just the background noise to the music that comes floating out Edward's ass."

I nodded, taking that piece of information and tucking it away for later.

Eric appeared to appraise me as he snuffed out his cigarette on the ground. He took what was left of it and slid it into his pocket, which was slightly disgusting. A used cigarette that was smashed into the ground didn't scream 'Smoke me later!' to me, but it did to Eric.

Finally, he stood, looking me over again in silence. I found myself analyzing the grooves on a particularly large piece of mulch, unable to meet his gaze.

"But don't worry, Ben," he said, in an oddly light tone. "It's a good sign that you're still running away from them. Keep it up."

I bothered to give his back a parting glance as he stepped around my legs and headed into the courtyard, wondering when it was that I told him it was Edward or Aaron I was running from.

* * *

**Edward's POV**

By lunchtime news of the bloody tampon had spread across the entire campus. Thanks to Jasper's enthusiasm, everyone was talking animatedly about whether or not it was more likely for there to be a transvestite in the school than a girl who was here with the secret permission of the administrators. It didn't matter that only three people had seen it, and that it had been flushed, it was better excitement than the most recent Felton winner's arrival.

I know that I had thought of nothing else ever since that fateful moment in the bathroom. All during my Spanish class I could only think about how there was actual blood on that thing. . . that an actual person bled on it. . . and that there was no way it could've been faked.

I was very nearly praying that it was all a fake, because if it wasn't, that girl had slipped up big time. But then again, it was such a colossal mistake for someone to make, it had to have been on purpose. Hadn't it?

Either way, I expected Ben to join our table at lunch and continue to discuss what he saw with Jasper, Emmett, and I. He was the second person to be witness to it, after all. Yet he didn't show.

_Surprise, surprise_, I thought dryly. _Ben's nowhere to be found._

It wasn't entirely true. I could think of one place he might be.

"Oh man," Emmett laughed after Jasper finished explaining what had happened. "Way to let everyone know there's a snatch in hiding!"

"So Em, you'll help me track her down, right?" Jasper asked, and to my horror, he pulled out rough sketches, floor plans, he had drawn of the school, and began talking strategy with Emmett.

"Jazz, he flushed it. Ben flushed it. It's not up to you to play detective."

He scoffed at my attempt to talk him down. "If it's not up to me now, then who's going to figure it out? Don't you want answers? And don't mention that twat's name to me, he fucking destroyed all my proof."

"So now what are you going to do?" I asked, getting angry. "Patrol the bathrooms and wait for the person to leave another one behind? I don't think anyone would make that same mistake twice."

He flipped me off.

Aggravated, I walked off, chucking my half eaten lunch in one of the bins. Of course I was just as freaked out as any guy who would find a tampon floating in a toilet, but I wasn't like Jasper. More than the mortification I felt at finding it, there was this overwhelming fear of what would happen to the person once we found her. The situation was better left alone, over, the way Ben had ended it.

I strayed farther away from the cafeteria, thinking about the trapped expression on Ben's face, the way he hugged his back to the wall, as if we were going to attack him for flushing it.

I looked up at that moment, and saw the object of my thoughts sitting alone at a courtyard bench.

_Well, at least he's predictable_, I thought.

I decided to completely ignore the inkling I had that Ben preferred to be alone, and sat down across from him. He didn't look up from the holes he was poking into his styrofoam tray. I faintly heard the guitar riffs before I saw the headphones snaking up into his ears. _No wonder he didn't notice me sit down._

In a slightly stalker-ish way I leaned over to see what song he was listening to. There was an old generation Nano folded in between his fingers. My hovering presence finally seemed to snap him out of his music-induced trance, his eyes, which I now noticed were brown, were suddenly very close to mine.

I backed away quickly. "Sorry."

Ben jerked his headphones out his ears. "What do you want?"

I couldn't help but scowl at his brisk tone. "Just wanted to know what you were listening to."

"Nirvana," he replied, sounding a thousand times more receptive to kindness than it just did.

"What song?"

He tilted the screen toward me and tapped the wheel for the screen to light up the words 'Come As You Are'. It was rather ironic that that was the song he was listening to, because Ben never tries to approach people as a friend, or show his true self to anybody. But it was also somewhat lucky for me that he was listening to Nirvana—the perfect conversation starter.

"So," I began, "who killed Kurt? Kurt or Courtney?"

Ben cocked his head to the side as he considered my question. "Kurt killed Kurt."

"Really? I see you as someone who puts the blame on Courtney." It wasn't true, I didn't know enough about Ben to peg him as a believer in the murder theory. I had hoped, by making assumptions, I would begin to learn more about him. When he began to explain himself more, I couldn't help but revel in how much I like it when I'm right.

"Nope," Ben said, sounding grave. "People don't want to believe that a person would want to die, but they do."

He didn't directly mention anything about suicide, or imply anything about himself, yet I couldn't avoid this sick feeling that maybe Ben had referred to his thoughts about his own death.

"You mean, people don't want to believe that other people would be depressed enough to kill themselves—?"

He sighed heavily. "Yeah."

"But they do?"

"They do."


	7. Weekend Adventures

**Chapter 6: Weekend Adventures**

I didn't even notice how the memories took over—how she didn't want to die in a hospital, how she had heard the statistics about the number of the sick and the elderly who spent their last days in one, surrounded by staff and almost never family, and how she didn't want to be one of them. I sat back as if I were in a movie theater, watching my own past on the screen as I remembered how she chose to die at home, giving us a weird sense of relief that we would be near her often, and a mind-numbing agony that came with the realization that someone was at their end. But most of all, I remembered the way in which she _wanted_ to die.

"Well, I'm convinced that Courtney did it."

Edward's voice pulled me out of the trance I had entered into, and I stared at him quizzically. "What?"

"Courtney Love definitely killed Kurt Cobain," he said with more conviction.

I quickly forgot the agony that had taken me by surprise. "No she didn't."

He shrugged, leaning back. "Whatever. If that's what you think."

I shrugged also, more aggravated than indifferent. "Yeah, that's what I think. He was high, he wrote a note, he got a gun, and then he pulled the fucking trigger."

He quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward conspiratorially. "She was crazy, she probably hired somebody just like she hired that detective guy, and none of the evidence was straightforward."

"Oh yeah? 'She's crazy' isn't an argument, by the way, and he was depressed and highly artistic. All the dark and depressing ones pick the philosophical way to go."

"Suicide is philosophical?"

"Absolutely." I said, quickly engaged in the conversation rather than attempting to draw away. "And not in the Shakespeare 'to be or not to be' kind of way."

Edward crouched forward, playing with my iPod between his fingers. "Then what kind of way?"

"Well," I began, but then paused. I had always thought it was philosophical, but had never found anyone with whom I could put any of it into words. "Think about it, we're all going to die in the end, so the question is, what, exactly, is the value of life? Who says we have to wait for a natural end, or even to die tragically? We can make so many other important decisions, why is it that society wants to stop us from making the biggest one?"

Edward shifted uncomfortably, frowning at the table instead of looking me in the eye. "Some people think it's a sin," he said, his voice cautious.

"No, not just some people," I corrected him, and he finally looked up. "Religious people. But what about the non-believers? Or those with more. . . eclectic beliefs? This country, especially, is all about individual rights. Just because someone follows one thing doesn't mean they can force other people to, also."

"So then what's the point of having laws? And what if the thing they want to stop them from doing is dangerous, harmful?" he insisted, sounding slightly frustrated with me.

"Exactly," I agreed, to Edward's astonishment. Then I continued. "That's when the philosophical aspects kicks in. Why can't it be a person's own decision as to when they've had enough of this life? Why can't they check out when they feel the time is right? Maybe it's not dangerous and harmful then. I don't think you even have be really depressed to do it, even, when you think of it that way. . ."

"Okay, okay," he sighed with determination, getting into the argument. "I get the point. So why isn't there mass suicide going on right now? If it's all going to be over—and by that I mean the end of a person's life, or the end of the world—then why isn't everyone pulling out a gun, tying a noose, crushing up pills?"

I swallowed hard at the last suggestion, but moved on before I let it all get to me again. "Hell if I know. Maybe. . . maybe we're supposed to make changes to Earth. Maybe when we're gone, something else will come along that can live off of what's left behind."

Figurative gray clouds loomed over our heads. I felt like going all Anne Shirley on Edward, suddenly wanting to call him a bosom friend, a kindred spirit. The urge to vomit over the cheesiness of the words was what stopped me from latching onto him like my old favorite red-headed heroine would. It had never seemed possible for me to find another kid my age who would talk about the same weird existential shit that I sometimes thought about it.

Edward smiled after a moment, his expression thoughtful yet somber. "So I guess it's kind of stupid how people are obsessed over Botox and designer handbags."

I laughed lightly. "Yeah, I guess it is."

The sun was shining brightly overhead, forcing me to squint in order to see Edward more clearly. A light breeze took away some of the heat from the day, and the grass and flowers around us were so perfect they could have passed for plastic. But in spite of the sense of content the ideal scenery should have created, I was confused.

Scratch that, I was fucking mystified.

Any second now, I was expecting Edward to settle back and sigh pompously before telling me all about his Felton days, as if he were presenting me with a coveted gift. Why else did he keep coming around, keep trying to talk, if he wasn't gearing up to solicit something from me just like Aaron did?

Instead, he surprised me by chuckling freely, without the weight of our suddenly heavy conversation on his shoulders. "I am so confused—the point of existence and everything—it's too much."

I tried to remember everything we had just said and somehow found myself confused all over again, so I joined in his laughter. "People are too damn complex."

"You got that right," he mumbled, rubbing his palms over his face briskly. When he looked up again, his eyes were brighter, rejuvenated. "But none of it matters, because I can definitely say that Courtney was crazy as an excuse. If a criminal in court can, so can I. So what else do you got on here?"

He reached for my iPod, clicking and wheeling through my music.

"Fine, call her crazy. She didn't put the gun to his head." I reached for my iPod, not particularly liking it when people snoop through it, but he jerked it out of my reach.

"You listen to Frank Sinatra?" he asked, questioning my taste in music with a frown.

"Frank was the man, people like Michael Bublé are cheap impersonators," I said, watching him become more engrossed with my ancient iPod, and held back the urge to jump across the table and snatch it out of his hands. "But Frank Sinatra has nothing to do with the fact that Kurt killed himself."

"Dean Martin, too," Edward remarked, ignoring me as his thumb flew around in a circle. "Do you have the entire Rat Pack on here?"

"Well seeing as they weren't all musicians, that would be difficult."

He seemed to hold back a smile as he stared at the screen, and the put the music player down. "You could buy their movies on iTunes, put them on a video iPod."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but that's an old Nano in your hands."

He ignored me again, my sarcasm lost on him, and tapped said Nano with an amused grin. "You do realize you have Michael Bublé on here?"

I grit my teeth. "It_ is_ my iPod, so yes. It's one song that someone got me hooked on; I don't need you to point out my hypocrisies. And since when did you think you could change the subject away from Kurt Cobain? You started the conversation."

"And therefore I can change it."

"No."

"Yes."

I changed tactics at the sign of a stalemate, attempting to make him uncomfortable. "Hey, who even said you could pilfer through my music?"

"Pilfer?" He smirked, shaking his head at me. "Get real," he said dryly.

He picked up my iPod again and started searching through it and stuck one ear bud in (another thing I couldn't stand, but ignored), singing softly to himself, "_No I don't have a gun. . ._" I listened to him hum and thought it was strange, how the lyrics seemed to match his attitude: He wasn't going to judge me.

It also made me wonder if I really did have a friend, a confidant, in Edward. If I could share the burden of my secret with someone, maybe I wouldn't leave tampons behind. Maybe I wouldn't be such an epic fail if there was someone else watching out for me.

_Are you there God? It's me, Bella. I don't know why my bloody tampon didn't flush down the toilet when it should have. I thought you of all people would watch out for me in this place. Hell, I want to know why you're allowing someone like me to even have children. . . just take my period away. _

Thinking of that stupid ass moment in the bathroom made me truly curious, though. I was witness to his reaction to it, but what was Edward thinking? It was fairly obvious what Jasper thought; painfully clear that if he gets too close he might want to rip my throat out for flushing it, but Edward was another story.

I lowered my voice before I spoke, probably trying too hard to sound like a husky-voiced guy before I brought up the subject. "Uh, Edward?"

"Yeah?" He stopped the slight head banging he had begun in rhythm with the chords of the song, and pulled the one headphone he had in, out. . . _thank God_.

"You, um, don't want to solve the tampon mystery?" I asked quietly, trying to keep all my nerves from floating to the surface.

Edward surprised me again, this time by a quick shrug of his shoulder. "No harm, no foul." He stopped playing around with the click wheel and looked over at me intently, before asking, "You obviously don't either. Too freaked out?"

A shaky laugh escaped me before I could make it sound more sane. "Definitely, but it's water under the bridge now."

"More like water down the drain," he quipped, and I found myself chuckling feebly again. It wasn't as hysteric as when Jasper told me he _thought _it was a tampon in the toilet, but there was still a hint of lunacy there.

I stared intently at the table, focusing on calming down and not letting my PMS symptoms get out of control; the cramping was a little too intense at the moment. It didn't necessarily make sense, Edward's whole 'no harm, no foul' explanation, but I wasn't going to complain.

It was kind of awkward, sitting there watching Edward play around with my iPod with my half eaten lunch in front of me. It looked like we were friends having lunch, but I knew better. I took the pen I had beside my food and began poking more holes into the Styrofoam tray. I punched in a smiley face, a sad face, a heart, and random lines. The more I did it, the crazier it got.

I was suddenly taking out my feelings—I was angry at Jasper for being such a fucking tampon Nazi. I was angry that Edward wasn't as arrogant as Aaron, and that he was basically forcing himself on me. I was pissed as hell that my dad wouldn't give more control over my own goddamn paycheck. And I was nervous about and livid that I was stuck playing around with sock penises while everyone else around me had a real one.

Fucking boys and their fucking anatomy. I want a penis! It would make this all so much simpler.

A hand wrapped around my wrist and slowed my stabbing motions. "What did the tray do to you?" Edward asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't know," I half-mumbled, half-whined, and put my head down in the crook of the arm that was resting on the table. I was not doing a very good job of being a boy.

"Here," Edward said a few moments later. I looked up to find him standing behind me, holding out my iPod. I took it and twisted around to face him. My tray was also gone.

"Thanks." I looked him up and down to gauge what he thought of my little display. "So did you like what you saw on here?" I inquired, trying to keep things light, and waved my music player around.

Edward couldn't seem to look me in the eye as he said, "Yeah, of course."

_Well now he thinks I'm crazy. . . maybe he'll avoid me now instead of the other way _around. I went to stand beside him before we went our separate ways, but my foot caught on the underside of the table while I tried to lift it out between the benches. I landed with a thud on my back, staring up at the midday sky.

"Well, the clouds look really pretty today," I observed casually, ignoring the sharp pain in the back of my head where my stitches were.

Edward shook his head, and offered a hand to help me up. His palm pressed into mine brought to my attention a singular vein that seemed to travel from the very center of my heart to the middle of Edward's palm, as if we were connected.

"Do you fall a lot?"

His hand still hadn't let go of mine. I wondered if he felt that there was a wiry vein tying us together, too.

"Everyday."

We stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before he spoke.

"You have really small hands," he muttered, jerking his fingers out of mine before I could realize that I hadn't let go of them. I immediately took a step back and shoved my hands in my pockets to hide them.

"No I don't," I gulped. _I have big, manly, guy hands, capable of crushing the Hulk himself. _

"Yeah you do," he snorted lightly. I felt another Kurt-Courtney style debate coming on, but we were interrupted.

"Hey Edward!" Jasper called out from across the courtyard, jogging over to us. He slowed when he saw me, shooting me another dirty look. "Oh, hey, _Benjamin_."

_Ouch, full name._ I felt like my grandma just scolded me and took away my cookie. I ignored the insult the intonation of his voice suggested and looked away, choosing to focus on the nice weather while Jasper continued to speak to Edward.

"So are you in on this or what?"

"You really think that this is going to work?" I saw Edward move slightly out of the corner of my eye, but I refused to let my curiosity get the better of me.

"Yes, of course it's going to work. I've thought out all of my strategies carefully," Jasper said, sounding a little fed up.

I heard a ruffle of paper and decided to turn my head. I stared blankly at the hand drawn blue prints spread out on the table, uncomprehending.

"And you won't even consider the possibility that it's a prank?" Edward's voice was hopeful, but one look at his face made it obvious that he knew Jasper's mind was set.

"What are you talking about?" I finally asked, pointing to the sketched out maps.

"Operation Find Red Beaver," Jasper said plainly, not even looking at me. Instead, he was focused solely on Edward. "Listen, I just have this gut instinct. It's not a prank."

"Oh, all right," Edward sighed, sliding the papers back toward his friend in resignation. "I'll help you out."

Jasper had the nerve to give me a smug look before he smiled at Edward. "Thanks, man. I knew you would."

"_What?_"

The way Jasper and Edward stared suddenly made me feel very intimidated, and I was reminded why I never had any guys friends, except for Jacob Black, growing up.

"Operation Find Red Beaver," Jasper leered, "is a little mission I've put together to find the owner of the tampon."

I felt a challenge in the look he gave me, as if I could finally step up and make up for the fact that I flushed the tampon by joining him, or I could do as he expected me to—wither away with my tail between my legs.

I stared at Edward, who had just decided to join Jasper the Tampon KGB's little quest (Jasper certainly looked like a stereotypical German—lean with stupid blonde hair and blue eyes) and wondered where the connection we had earlier in the bathroom went. Was I wrong to assume that Edward and I had communicated silently in that instant, that he was going to help me out? Guess not. He stared back at me with a mildly critical expression, and then I finally realized that although we had had our first friendly conversation, I couldn't count on him to be a friend.

Unless he knew my secret. He might help if he was better informed. But then, there was no guarantee he would hear the truth and either:

Laugh in my face,

Turn me into the authorities (who would hand me over to the nice men in white coats),

Or just plain old run away faster than the Roadrunner.

I suppressed a groan. There was no way I was going to help hunt myself down, as wonderfully entertaining as that might be, and I had a feeling it still wouldn't get me on Jasper's good side. I stood up, ready to get to my next class and avoid the blonde-haired fanatical for the rest of my life.

Avoidance—my own strategy that I've carefully thought out, works every time, and will probably be easier than Jasper's beaver hunt.

"Well, have fun Dick Tracy," I muttered bitterly, and walked away before seeing if my little jab had made its mark.

Though judging by the snickering I heard, I was pretty sure it had.

* * *

**Edward's POV**

The scene before me was wearing me thin. Emmett was in one corner polishing off Lauren's tonsils, and Jasper was staring out at all the girls in the room from behind his red plastic cup in another. Tyler was manning the music station, and I wanted to strangle him for his taste in songs that were heavy on the MTV. The rest of the basement lounge to our dorm was divided into clusters of people. Only certain people hung out with certain people, yet here we all were, cloistered together and pretending to get along for the sake of having a good party. Mike Newton was the exception, of course. Of our entire class, he was the needy puppy who jumped from group to group as if he were friends with everyone.

Idiot.

It was hot in the room. As soon as I entered I noticed how tightly packed everyone was. The girls from Mary Anna's were here to celebrate the start of our senior year. Usually, because they had to drive an hour to get here, only girlfriends came. But tonight was considered a special occasion, and so more made the effort to come hang out.

I kept scanning the crowd, with the towels I was required to bring gripped tightly in my hand, for the one girl I wanted to see. Instead, I was distracted by the sight of Rosalie Hale grinding on Jessica Stanley. And every once in awhile, as the song that was playing seemed to require, they kissed each other—and liked it. Now I finally had an idea of why Tyler was playing the crap that he was.

I was telling my dick to stand down when Mike broke away from the pack of people he was with and saw me lingering by the door. He eagerly made his way over, his eyes only able to stay half open due to whatever substances he had imbibed so far.

"Hey, Edward! You finally showed, dude." Mike swayed a little in front of me, and I watched him right himself with a feeling of disgust mixed with amusement. "Did'ya bring the towels? Jared's gotten way too paranoid—wants ta block that shit up before someone smells somethin'."

I offered him the towels and he immediately started using them to block the sliver of space underneath the door and to cover all of the fire alarms. I moved past him deeper into the crowd, looking for Bree.

I didn't know what Bree Adams was to me anymore. Before today I would have said she was pretty much on her way to being my girlfriend this year. And if not, at least she'd be a friend with benefits, and my prom date. But after the tampon, and definitely after that weird talk I had with Ben Cheney this afternoon, I felt different.

It was. . . weird. I felt so hollowed out, like the body I was in was mine, but it wasn't me anymore. Usually, I showed up to these lounge parties early, and would be just as drunk as everyone else right now. I would be having fun. But something had shifted and now I was different. I don't think I'm fun anymore.

I had sobered up (not literally) quickly. I wished I could say that I didn't know what brought on the change, but I knew. It was that one, stupid, so-simple-it-was-complicated, conversation with Ben, and now I couldn't shake the doom and gloom. It had induced an out of body experience.

I brushed past the game of beer pong and settled down in an open armchair. Most of all, I wanted Ben here just so that he could see everyone else going about things normally and tell me to screw everything he had said, and then he would tell me why life was really worth it. I thought I knew, but didn't anymore. . . didn't even ever question it before.

I closed my eyes and let the sounds of ping pong balls splashing into alcohol, crappy top forty hits, and excited conversation fill my ears. Truth was, I was scared. I wanted to take our conversation and write it all out on a white board so that I could erase it like it never existed. I wanted to be able to sketch it to life on an etch-a-sketch and then shake it all away. I didn't like things that I couldn't fully understand, or conversations where I had trouble arguing an opposing thought, _or _the fact that I had been affected so much by one conversation.

I felt some relief when I entertained the thought of shaking Ben into sense until his lackadaisical attitude he took toward things was replaced with more concern. How could someone talk about something as scary as suicide, let alone death, and be so calm?

I knew the answer almost as soon as I thought the question: You could only have that attitude if you head dealt with death up close.

"Dude! The guy can fucking multiply!"

I opened my eyes and saw Eric Yorkie standing on a chair a few feet to my right, a cigarette characteristically dangling between two fingers. He had a small crowd of people laughing with him, or at him, or whatever. Out of curiosity I focused my hearing on what he was trying to say, listening to only his words as I let them distract me from my thoughts.

"I'm serious. If Jesus was one of us—like a stranger on a bus and all that shit like in that song—" _Funny, I thought the song was about God. But I guess you can't be picky when you're drunk. _"—then he'd be the life of the party. Think about it! He'd turn his body into wine, and then we'd all have like the freakiest keg parties ever. It'd be the freakiest shit, but it'd be awesome."

Eric was so excited as he spoke, his eyebrows raising and his mouth wavering as he tried to find the words to prove his point.

"And then," he continued, taking his voice down a notch to draw his audience in, "he'd turn his body into bread so we wouldn't get too drunk. He'd, like, watch out for us. You know, 'cause then he could make all this fucking fish come out of nowhere so we wouldn't get hungry. The guy can fucking multiply, man, I'm tellin' ya." He nodded in conclusion, as if we were all now convinced that Jesus should be one of us.

Mike happened to be one of the people hanging onto Eric's ridiculous story. I couldn't help but snort as I listened to his contribution to the tale.

"Hey, you know, Jesus should be one of us in the seventies. 'Cause that totally sounds like the shit they'd be into in the seventies."

If I were the one to lead that conversation and listen to Mike say that, I would've made fun of him and told him to shove off. But I wasn't, and I also happened to be sober, and had to watch as everyone who listened to Mike stare off into space as they took the idea of Jesus in the seventies into serious consideration.

Horror filled me that I might have been just as stupid and Eric and Mike at these parties in the past, and I suddenly wanted confirmation from my friends that I was a cool, suave drunk.

Emmett was still playing tonsil hockey with Lauren Mallory, and so my eyes quickly swooped over to the corner I last saw Jasper in. He had moved slightly, but was still in the same area, scoping out the girls in the place and using his cup to hide behind like a total creep. I smirked when I realized that Ben was right, Jasper was trying to be exactly like Dick Tracy; now all he needed was his Crimestoppers' Textbook.

I stood and made my way over to him. I sort of wished that Emmett was there to complete our group. For some reason, all I could think about was having strength in numbers when were surrounded by so many more girls than we normally were.

"Hey Jasper," I said as soon as he was in hearing range. "What are you doing?"

"Sticking to the mission, Edward, sticking to the mission. Judas over there has fallen to the enemy, so I'm taking surveillance." He tilted his head towards Emmett, and then stuck his empty cup in front of me. "Get me another one, will you?"

I rolled my eyes, but got him another cup anyway. "All right," I asked him when I returned, "what have you taken surveillance of so far?"

"The females, man. What else?"

I followed his gaze towards a small gathering of girls around Paul Bates across the room. A small gathering which just happened to include the brunette I had been searching for—Bree. I didn't even register what was happening until I noticed Jasper wasn't by my side anymore, but halfway towards the group. I hurried after him, and horror filled me again as I caught on to his words.

"Hey fucker," he addressed Paul, whose arms were wrapped protectively around his girlfriend, Rebecca-something. "What's your girl doing leaving her vagina around?"

"What the hell?" Paul nearly shouted. I quickly patted Jasper on the back and turned him away.

"What are you doing?" I whispered. "Is verbally assaulting people how you planned on solving everything?"

"No." Jasper looked like a petulant little boy as he cradled his refilled cup. "But I hate Paul, the more I looked at him the more convinced I was it's him and Becca behind it."

"Yeah, well, why don't you go back to analyzing people in a corner and put the plan into motion when you're not three sheets to the wind and you know what you're doing."

His eyes were watering a little as he nodded, and then skulked off towards his look-out spot. I heaved a sigh, and turned back towards Paul, Bree, and the other girls. "Sorry about that," I apologized for my friend's behavior. "Someone must've put something in his drink."

Six pairs of eyes smiled at me as if they were already over it; they were probably too toasted to let it effect them since I intervened quickly, and Bree began giggling. I turned towards her, suddenly impatient to talk to her.

"Hey Bree." I leaned in and hugged her, only to be met with the smell of stale smoke and beer. Her frame was limp in mine, and I frowned as I wondered why I had never noticed how lifeless and motionless she could be.

"Edward," she breathed with a slight laugh. Her eyes twinkled, her excitement to see me now far stronger than my desire to see her. I looked down at her mouth that was constantly opening and closing—like she was that Feed Big Bertha game at the mall arcade—when really it was just because she was thirsty from all the beer and marijuana I smelled.

But crap—her lips were shiny. They looked good. And I could see a hint of tits through the shirt. V-necks are my new favorite shirts for girls to wear, by the way, especially since they afforded me a nice view of the top of Bree's breasts. The desire was slowly creeping back up on me. . . where did it go in the first place?

"How was your summer?" I managed to ask through my haze of lust.

"I missed you," she replied with a giggle. She was good at that: giggling. I forgot that she didn't necessarily answer my question when she leaned forward on her tippy toes. Her faint breath reminded me of feet plagued by athlete's foot, but her breasts were on my chest now, so I could ignore it.

"I missed _you_," I mumbled back. I didn't really mean it, or at least I didn't think so, but it was getting me what I wanted in that instant.

"BUT THAT'S THE POINT! JESUS IS A TOTAL DICTATOR!" Eric shouted, jumping on his chair and breaking me from my moment with Bree.

I took a step back from her, realizing in doing so that she had curled her fingers into my shirt. Shaking my head a little in order to clear it, I decided that I should get myself a drink, and refresh Bree's, if I actually wanted to enjoy the party. And after seeing _and feeling_ Bree, I did. Screw Ben and his psycho babble—life could still be fun even if it wasn't worth squat.

"C'mon," I said, and took Bree's hand in mine. We found where the drinks were located, passing an Emmett who still immersed in Lauren's mouth. I vaguely wondered if he had come up for air or if he was breathing through his nose. But I didn't pay attention to him for too long. I let myself get tipsy, and then starred as Wayne Gretsky in my own game of tongue hockey with Bree.

* * *

**Bella's POV**

Saturday morning dawned bright and cheery, but there was rain. I hastily jumped into the shower before I did anything else; the mugginess of my skin being too much to bear. One step outside after breakfast also showed that the sun was still out and about being its hot and oppressive self. It wasn't normal—all the sun with all the rain—and now it was humid.

Air conditioning. That's what I would have to invest in if I didn't want my flesh to turn into tiramisu before the winter came. Screw dildos, guy clothes, and manly perfumes—air conditioning became the main priority. The denser the humidity got in my room the more I learned that I am not made to endure heat. I sure hoped I wasn't going to be sent to Hell for this boy crap I was pulling—I had a feeling those fiery pits were worse than humidity of my shitty bedroom.

Looking around I decided it was time to get out of the house. It was as if I could see the future—my weekends for my entire senior year would only be filled with near slave labor at the video store and hours spent wasting away while watching the paper come off the walls.

_Damn._ I needed to get out. I needed to see people and lights. I needed to be proactive; develop my own sort of preventative medicine for free time that would be riddled with disease-like boredom.

That was when the idea came to me.

There are certain institutions which every city or town is comprised of: affluent schools, secure banks, friendly supermarkets, fine dining, a handy Laundromat. . . . But in my town there existed an institution that was only common in a place like Chelmsford: a sex shop. No ghetto is complete without a sex shop.

And it was time to make a visit. I would hit two birds with one stone: cure the boredom by searching for a dildo. Perfect.

This bus ride was much shorter than the one I took to school, but I would argue that taking it was much scarier than that first journey to St. Bart's. Or maybe not exactly scary—I wasn't trying to pass off as a boy at the destination I was headed to. I should say it was nerve wracking. I was going to peruse porn for the first time in my life.

The craziest thing about the situation was that I was in Bella mode, but had no other choice but to dress as Ben. There were some moments where I considered dressing in my normal girl clothes and just pretend that I was into the whole über short haircut thing, but I looked way too stupid. So I saved my old outfits for when I was sitting at home, and donned my Ben clothes when I went gallivanting around in public (with the exception of work).

Besides, on the off chance that I ran into someone from school who saw me in girl clothes and actually recognized me, I wouldn't have to make up some bullshit excuse about a twin.

Lavender Moon was a lot like St. Bart's in that its appearance as an adult store was deceiving. It was a violently purple building with chipping paint in the midst of other run-down, drab looking pizza shops, convenient stores, and specialty shops. The soft violet lighting in the window of Lavender Moon blinked just as weakly as the those of the place beside it, but it looked much more welcoming.

I wouldn't have even guessed it was an adult store if Charlie hadn't complained one night about the owner of the store constantly coming into the station to request a gun permit. Charlie saw no reason why the person would need a weapon to protect his perverted toys.

I didn't need him to elaborate to figure out what the perverted toys were.

Never thinking I would actually use the knowledge of a porn shop to my advantage, I stood in front of it, debating with myself as to whether or not I should go in. . . Finally, I decided to just take the plunge, realizing I probably looked creepier staring at the building rather than entering it like any normal patron.

A chime echoed above as I pushed open the door, and I found myself surrounded by. . . .

Magic tricks?

_Okay. . . _

There where shelves upon shelves of potions, tarot cards, trick decks, and various other things having to do with witchcraft and aspects of the occult I hadn't realized existed. There was also a middle-aged woman with a deliberate countenance who kept flipping and turning tarot cards on the counter she was standing behind.

She ignored my presence as I hovered awkwardly in the doorway. I didn't mind; I was embarrassed enough.

I began sliding down between aisles full of magic books and spells, and floated between round tables with strange displays upon them. Everything was draped in some variation of purple and blue gauzy material, making me feel like I was standing in a poorly decorated porn set even if there was no porn.

I could've sworn that in Charlie speak 'perverted toys' meant dildo. . .

Slightly disappointed, I took one last turn about the room. One hideously orange curtain caught my eye in the back, and suddenly, I became a moth drawn to a flame.

Closer inspection of the wall surrounding the disgusting curtain revealed a sign that said only those who where eighteen or older could go into the room beyond.

B-I-N-G-O.

Obviously, I still had a week or so to go until I met the age requirement, but one glance back at the woman told me she was still immersed in her card reading, and that if I were sneakier than Santa on Christmas Eve, there was a whole new world I was about to discover.

Pulling back the curtain I was hesitant to even touch it was so revolting, I silently entered the forbidden back room. I was giddy, even horny, staring at all the perverted toys that came into view. Of course, everything was still tied together by some sort of magical theme (the purple and blue draping didn't stop just because an orange curtain was in the way—there was even deep purple shag carpeting on the floor), but every single thing my eyes were now seeing for the first time were most definitely pornographic.

Kinky lingerie, 'bondage' items, dildos, vibrators, things called male masturbators, lubricants, and countless variations of all those things were all cunningly spread out before my eyes, making them all the more alluring. Hell, I didn't even notice how the walls where lined with shelves upon shelves of porn movies when I was completely captivated with trying to work out how they made the dildo display look like a graceful waterfall.

It was. . . art. . . in some sick, twisted way.

And the prices! Jesus, some of the more simple devices were a lot cheaper than I imagined them to be.

_Finally_, I sighed internally, _I just have to turn eighteen and the I can have a penis just like everyone else_.

It was possible. I couldn't fucking believe it. . . Just, holy fuck. . . I only had a birthday to go through and then I could pull it off completely. I would be the best fucking Trojan Horse anyone had ever seen.

_Ha. . . Trojan. . . dildo in my hands. . . _

I began cackling—full out Wicked Witch of the West, evil crime lord with a cat in his lap, cackling.

"Excuse me, kid. How old are you?" a cold, dangerous voice said from behind me, immediately straightening me out and cutting me off mid-cackle.

Fuck.

I turned around slowly and eyed the lady with the short, fading red hair from behind the counter. She looked like she wanted to slice off my annoying non-existent dick with a peeling knife.

I didn't blame her. I was acting like the biggest, nerdiest freak just then, and I wasn't old enough to be there, just as she correctly assumed.

"Uh, um, no ma'am," I stuttered, squeaking through every goddamn syllable as if I were trying to sabotage myself further. _Way to go, sound like a high-pitched pre-pubescent teen. That will really help your case_.

"Then you need to get your ass out of this store right now, and don't even think about coming back, _punk_," she threatened, using one knobby finger to point toward the exit.

Naturally, I obeyed, bolting past the curtain and managing to knock over an arrangement of magic tricks when it temporarily blinded me. I turned to nervously apologize, but the woman's face was absolutely murderous. I turned and ran again, knocked over something else with my unfortunate poise, and never looked back.

That was one option out the window. I would have to take extra time to explore the adult stores of other neighboring ghettos now—_fucking fabulous_.

* * *

Bus schedules suck ass. The particular I needed to catch was supposed to be on a twenty-minute rotation schedule. I had now been waiting for it for half an hour. My nerves had calmed down from the run-in with the scary witch/porn lady, and now I was hungry and hot and about to piss my pants.

So I did the only thing I could think to do.

I went to the supermarket. It was blissfully air conditioned, and the smell of the freshly sprayed fruit when I entered was amazing.

It was also the motherfucking secret Holy Grail of phallic objects.

Cucumbers, hot dogs, sausage links, and bananas all became pseudo penises in my eyes as I passed them. Even plums and those little Clementine oranges started to look like balls to me. Who needs a fancy forty dollar rabbit dildo when you could have a cucumber for around a buck? I even began entertaining the idea of turning a banana curve upwards for when I was 'happy' and down for when I was flaccid.

Giddy and cackling all over again (although I started to blame it this time on poor sleep interrupted by loud humping neighbors), I grabbed a banana and two plums and lightly ran the length of the supermarket until I found an abandoned aisle.

International and Health Foods happened to be the first one I saw, and I suddenly felt my stomach flutter with glee.

I used my best Mission Impossible moves to quickly check and make sure no one was headed my way. When I was satisfied I could have a few moments alone, I dashed to the center of the aisle, holding the banana and plums in between my legs.

_I'm crazy_, I thought, _but oddly enough, this is sort of realistic. If only fruit didn't expire or bruise, my search would be over right now_.

"Young man? Excuse me, young man, exactly what do you think you're doing with that fruit?"

With a sneaking suspicion I had been foiled yet again, I looked up from my crotch to find a q-tipped old lady with an extremely disapproving smile on her face. Needless to say, I let the banana and plums drop to the ground while the rest of me froze in mortification.

"That was disgusting," she scolded, practically spitting at me, "what I just saw you do to that fruit. I hope you realize you're going to pay for that?"

There were no words, just no words at all to explain my situation to this lady, and this time I was too terrified to run away. Her deploring gaze was much harder to stomach than the porn lady's. I barely managed to nod my head to agree with her, but I didn't think she noticed.

"Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to pick up that banana you were defiling?" she asked, incredulous.

I bent down and picked everything up, a slow smile creeping onto my face.

"You find this funny? I've no idea how you were raised, but I can't believe _anyone_ would teach you to treat fruit like _that_ and find it humorous!"

That was when I began thinking that if I told the woman I was a girl and needed a fake penis to pass off as a boy I would literally kill her. I imagined her beady little eyes literally popping out of her skull as she had a brain aneurysm with the information I could bestow upon her.

"Young man, don't just stand there. Go and pay for that fruit right now!"

And this was where I realized my life was _really_ going downhill. I couldn't help it, she just kept laying into me. The maniacal, cackling laughter began again, and I finally lost my fucking mind.


	8. The Button

**Chapter 7: The Button**

"This will be easier if I take off my shirt. Will you be able to handle it?" he warned.

I gulped, terrified of these feelings, this situation. And I wanted to be ready. Deep down, maybe even deeper than my stomach, my body was ready. My body wanted this. It was my mind that was indecisive.

"I can handle it, of course," I scoffed, sounding a little more like I was wheezing.

Edward smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing to me. He knew that I wanted his shirt off. . . . and then my shirt. . . and then his pants. . . . and then my pants. Slowly, so slowly I wanted to jump across the bed and tear it off, he let his fingers trail his cotton shirt over his head, and revealed his marble chest.

"Your turn."

My breathing was unnaturally loud. My body wanted to be draped over him. My brain was screaming, telling me not to go through with this; that tomorrow, he would act differently. It was all too possible that he had a completely different perception of what this act would mean for our relationship. He might want to tell the world, or he might want to pretend he never even knew me. Or maybe nothing would change. We could still act like friends, even though our bodies had crossed the boundaries of friendship.

My body won the argument, and I lifted my own shirt over my head with much less grace than Edward had.

When finally I flung the shirt to the ground, we stopped, taking each other in. His eyes raked over my freakishly pale skin with a hunger I had never seen a man direct toward me.

I spoke first, my whisper only lending to the new environment of the room. "You. . . you are so. . . guapo."

The word felt as natural as breathing leaving my lips, but somehow the way it lingered in the air caught my attention. Guapo?

The Spanish only seemed to turn him on more. He groaned, and leaned towards me, asking me to repeat myself with a single word: "What?"

"Guapo!" I said louder; exuberantly, almost. My enthusiasm was rewarded when Edward sprang across the distance I had put between us earlier, nearly pouncing until his body covered mine. With another groan, his lips captured my bottom one, and we moaned together.

Then Edward leaned back, thumping hard against the wall, his arms flying straight out from his sides, and his eyes wide with a revelation, as he exclaimed, "Te quiero!" in a manner just as energetic as my previous one. "Can I kiss you until we can't breathe? I want our tongues to battle for dominance in a never-ending war."

Tears almost fell from my eyes I was so happy. "You never have to ask," I murmured reverently, flying into his embrace. Together we created another loud thump against the wall. I didn't have time to worry about waking anyone up as I covered his mouth with mine. I loved him too.

Strangely, the thumping didn't stop, even though Edward and I hadn't moved from our position. We were clawing at one another, lost in the moment, but we were certainly not banging into the wall.

Then there was a sharp poke on my shoulder that poked in time with the banging sound, and then I knew I had to turn around. Angrily, I twisted away from my love to search for the person who was trying to interrupt our moment of perfection.

Jacob Black, my childhood friend, was standing behind me. He was something fierce, what with his strong stance: legs shoulder-width apart, the muscles of his arms bulging as they crossed in front of his chest, his thick eyebrows gathering in an angry frown. He was only wearing a loincloth, with an elaborate feather headdress adorning his crown and gray-white feather necklaces that interrupted the expanse of his wide, russet torso.

Amazed, I lost the rage that wanted to pummel him for cock blocking me.

"Bella," Jacob growled, "you don't know what you're doing."

"Uh, I'm pretty sure I'm about to have sex," I stated.

"Sí!" he shouted, the word punctuated with another sharp bang. Do I even dare think that he contradicted himself by sounding happy? "But that was not what I was talking about."

"Well then what were you talking about?" I crossed my own arms in front of my chest now and waited.

"I was talking about your mosquito bite boobs. Edward can't see them."

Rather gullibly, I looked down at my chest. My boobs were still there. Glaring back up at Jacob, I hissed, "Of course he can see them! They're there!"

"No they're not, not to him," he insisted. "He can only see your elephant-sized dick."  
My eyes widened to a breaking point under the force of my outrage. But before I could give him the worst tongue lashing of his life, he spoke again, soundly oddly calm. "Just look down, Bella."

So I did, with the banging noises creating a steady rhythm in the background. My boobs were gone; I was flatter than I was in my training bra days, and there was a small elephant trunk in between my legs. Stunned into silence now, I stared back up at my old friend, waiting for an explanation.

"_And that's exactly why you don't know what you're doing—LUISA!_"

The thumping finally broke through the clouds that had been fogging my mind. With a jolt, my eyes flew open and my heart smacked against my ribcage. Cries of "Luisa!" continued to fill the air, along with high-pitched, breathless accompaniments of "Sí! Sí!"

Against my permission, the vigorous lovemaking of my Latino neighbors, Pedro and Luisa Almeida, had become a part of my dream.

I didn't know whether or not I should curse them for waking me up yet again, or thank them for taking me away from that dream with Edward and Jake, of all people. And why did the beginning of it feel like a poorly acted romance novel-turned-Lifetime movie? One glance at my alarm clock told me it was six a.m., meaning that there was only a half hour left before it would wake me up for school, and that it was not worth it to go back to sleep.

I didn't like being conscious if I didn't need to be. When I was awake, I was being pulled in too many different directions. There was the part of me that wanted to give up the charade; it was too difficult. Another part knew that if I stopped making mountains out of molehills and kept to myself then everything would be fine; I knew that this school could give me what I wanted. A third portion of my mind was careening off a cliff with desperation to talk to someone about my secret. Charlie and I had already said the words we needed to say to one another before school started. If we had any conversation now it would just be a useless repetition of things already said.

I didn't know or trust anyone at school to tell them. I always had Edward, specifically, in mind when I thought about talking to anyone at school. I would tell myself that I would tell anyone, even Eric or Jasper, but knew deep down that it was really Edward I wanted to confide in.

After my disastrous attempt at—let's call it Penis Research—at Lavender Moon and then the supermarket, I wanted to crawl into a hole. I didn't want to come out. Sleep was like living in a hole; the hole that is my mind. Yet I also wanted to peek out of the hole and ask for help. I needed advice to help me wander this frightening new territory I was in, and I needed that someone to understand that I wasn't asking for the world here. I wasn't asking for the moon or the sun with what I was doing at St. Bart's, I was just going after what I deserved.

All those times people tell you to go after what you want, make any sacrifice as long as it's for the right thing, that life's too short—well, St. Bart's could give me what I wanted, it would lead me to the right thing. My gender identity was my sacrifice, and I understood all too well how short life could be.

My alarm went off then; the noises from next door had faded into the abnormal quiet of morning. In the process of slapping the alarm until it stopped beeping, I knocked over my cell phone. The numbers 6:31 were illuminated in the semidarkness when it hit the ground. And it was strange how the act of knocking my cell phone over reminded me of a number given to me in confidence months ago. . . of a confidant I had always had, but had stupidly forgotten about.

I leaned over and picked it up, flipping it open quickly. It wasn't too early to call, he would definitely be awake at this time, and I was exactly in the kind of predicament in which he told me to call for help if I needed it.

"Hi," I said nervously when he answered my call. "Sorry to bother you, but I need some advice before I go to school. It's kind of embarrassing. . ."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As I sat through Morning Prayer that fine Thursday morning, I couldn't help but enjoy Father Joseph's sermon for the first time. Maybe it was because of the way he sang that Hallelujah song in a funny deep voice. Maybe it was because of the way the nuns and teachers scoured the pews making sure everyone was present. They looked so content to do their job, and since I was finally content, I couldn't find it in me to create a grudge against them.

Maybe it was the way everyone was just as bored as I was. Everyone was just as tired. Everyone was just as quiet. Everyone had a little something-something between their legs, myself included. Everything: the boredom, the quiet, the penis, meant we were all finally the same.

That's right—I was currently adjusting to the feeling of a little sock dick between my legs while reciting the Hail Mary. Cell phones are a wonderful invention. They do this thing where they connect you to people instantly no matter where they are or what time it is, if the person picks up, that is.

Anyway, by the time Prayer was over I only had thirty minutes before my World Lit class began. I spent the time thinking about how fabric that is meant to cover your feet could be used in so many ways. It was amazing, too, how feeling like I was finally equal to everyone around me made me feel more confident. Knowing that there was a little buffer there if a backpack headed my way, or if someone saw me with my pants down, sort of freed me. I felt like there was more of a swagger to my step. I was prepared now, ready to take on the world one all boy's school at a time.

Well, not really, but you know what I mean.

But now that I was just one of the guys, I felt like I had new eyes. There were so many things I was noticing that I hadn't paid attention to for the week and a half that I had been here. For instance, from my seat on a courtyard bench, I could see that guys scratch themselves. A lot.

I had no idea why, but it was somewhat fascinating. Were they like dogs? Did they have fleas down there? Lice? Crabs? Aren't lice and crabs basically the same thing? I digress, but the fact remained that they couldn't always be reaching for their junk because it was simply itchy. Maybe some guys had little room, or too much room, and needed to readjust. Maybe they were horny. Maybe it was a mystery I would never solve.

_Maybe I need to stop thinking in 'maybes' and just go with the flow. _

There was one benefit that came from the observation, though: If I needed to fix the position of my sock, I was free to do so, _subtly_, out in the open. _No one_ would question it. I could scratch away like I had the biggest fucking rash in history and no one would blink an eye. Well, they would blink, because that's involuntary, but as long as I didn't make it look like I was about to set on fire, then my hands were free to caress my crotch in broad daylight.

The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and so far, the eating was good.

And it was Thursday, which made everything that much brighter. Tuesdays and Thursdays were quickly becoming my favorites days of the week. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, however, were like spending an entire day at the YMCA gym on the toughest setting on the Stairmaster, with a chocolate frosted donut and water bottle dangling on a string just out of reach, Miley Cyrus pumping through the speakers, and one of those beefy trainers off to the side making sure I did everything in 'double time' without breaking a sweat.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays sucked hard.

First, in P.E., Cohn made this rule about passing to every teammate before anyone tried to score a goal, _each and every fucking time_. Which, of course, ignited the competitive hatred of every male and directed it toward little ol' me, and made it impossible for me to remain inconspicuous and bruise-free. The way Cohn smiled after he introduced the rule made him look proud at the fact that he may have just taught us all life's greatest lesson. Then he had to watch me play football. Enough said.

Second, Portrait Girl, or I should say Portrait Bitch, was mocking me. I thought we were best friends, seeing as we're the only young girls around, but no, we were not. That defeated look she had that I loved? It was gone. Someone, a master painter masquerading as a janitor, must have come into the room overnight and altered her face, because she now looked like she wanted to cut my heart out with a butter knife. Her sapphire eyes were sharper, her brows had come closer together, and her mouth was set in disappointment. It was like she had watched me over the weekend and saw me turn into a penis obsessed, terrified girl with too much shit on her hands, and thought that karma should come around and punish me already.

No, me and Portrait Girl weren't on the same team anymore. She was successful with whatever act she was pulling off in her century, a small moment of which was captured for me to look at within a frame, but I wasn't such a great trickster. I was a disgrace to all women trying to pull off the impossible, and Portrait Girl knew and wanted to punish me for it. I was just waiting for her to hop out of the painting and reveal my true identity.

Or it was entirely possible that Portrait Girl was angry with me now because she knew all along how things were going to turn out for me, but I kept making mistake after mistake, speeding up the events leading to the inevitable. She had wanted me to make it further in my scheme, and I was beginning to foul everything up before I should have.

Either way, I was going to give the girl on the wall another chance to be the source of comfort that she once was. I had a whole slew of new advice in my arsenal, the sock penis being just one benefit of it, and I was ready to do things right. I would see her again tomorrow and suddenly it would be as if the pseudo janitor had come back and returned her face to its original jaded expression.

Before I knew it, the four dull chimes of the school bell were going off, telling me I had five minutes to get my butt to World Lit on time. I left my musing behind on the bench, grabbed my bag, and headed indoors again.

The fresh morning air seemed to stay with me in my lungs, and sitting through Lit class felt like it would be less horrifyingly dull than it usually was. A week and a half, and already I knew which classes weren't going to be my favorites. Normally, I was all for all things literature, but this class was an exception.

For one, the name of the teacher who I stared at while I took my seat in the back was Mr. Snelgrove, but he should've been Alex Trebek, because he sounded and looked just like him. The question he asked our class hung over a suddenly very quiet room, and, I swear to God, I could practically hear the Jeopardy song playing while everyone thought about the answer. "Okay," Snelgrove said by way of getting our attention, and created the silence that engulfed the class, "So the first discussion question I have for you is: What is it about the act of sex that is so repulsive, or horrible, that has Billy Bibbit react the way he does?"

Cue the music, no one wanted to be the first to speak.

_One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest _was our summer reading, and we were supposed to be finishing our discussion of it today. That's correct, Ken Kesey was the reading requirement for a _World_ Literature class. I took World Lit to mean we would be analyzing Chaucer, Shakespeare, Chinua Achebe, Joseph Conrad, and others. There were some contradictions about this place I would never understand.

Aaron Matthews, reason number two why this class would never contribute to my Best Week Ever, was the first to stop the waiting game. He raised one long, relaxed arm into the air, and already I wanted to grind my teeth.

"Well isn't it a morality issue?" Aaron asked haughtily. It wasn't even his tone that annoyed me, just the pompous way he answered a question with a question. I _hated_ that, for reasons I couldn't really begin to explain.

"Good thinking, but give us more details," Snelgrove encouraged.

"Billy Bibbit was never a strong personality, and he had these morals that were the only things that really guided him. As soon as he broke his own morals, he broke down."

"Good, good," Snelgrove said, appearing to think more about what Aaron just contributed. I wanted him to whip out his inner Trebek and say, _"Oh, sorry. That was close, but the correct answer was: What is sexually repressed and manipulated?"_ Instead, he whipped out his cultivated boring teacher mentality, and asked, "Does everyone agree? Anybody want to add?"

Of course, just by asking if anyone else wanted to speak, no one did. It was a paradox etched in the stone of teacher-student relationships. And I was just going to sit there and perpetuate it.

Or so I thought.

The Jeopardy song refused to leave my head. _Doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo- doo, doo! Da-da-da doo-doo, doo-doo. . . _Oh no, Trebek was frowning. The time was almost up, and no was going to speak. I hated it when Trebek frowned, it meant he was sorely disappointed. Everyone is so freaking smart on Jeopardy. . . . no question is too hard. . . . there's always an answer. . .

Right?

Right.

My hand shot up in the air of its own volition. All the small shuffling sounds of the room seemed to stop once everyone realized that someone actually had an opinion to add. The clicking binders, snapping pens, tapping feet, and weary sighs all faded, and all I could hear was my heart in my ears. Public speaking also always caused my throat to go dry and my hands to shake. When Snelgrove finally saw my hand, I was quick to rub my palms together before forcing my fingers to mess with my own pen. They needed something to do or else I wasn't going to be able to speak.

But I needed to add to the conversation, because if I didn't, and the teacher just went with the awkwardness and let everything slide, then everyone was going to think that Aaron was right. And he wasn't. He was so wrong.

"Yes, Mr. Cheney?"

I tried to mentally prepare myself, but it still happened. My voice still quivered slightly when I spoke. "I think Aaron made a good point—" That was a lie, but I needed to say something to cover my ass and pretend like I actually respected his opinion, "—but I'm not entirely convinced that Billy's problem is a moral one."

I paused then, sort of surprised that I was seriously contributing to a class discussion without a teacher having called on me first.

"So what is it then?" Mr. Snelgrove asked when I didn't continue speaking immediately.

I quickly sucked in a breath, and plowed onward. "Well, it's not like he was never not interested in girls. He wanted to be with Candy. McMurphy encouraged it, gave him his freedom in that sense. But, he it was too late for him, really. He was too sexually repressed by Nurse Ratched and his mother, so that when Ratched found out he was with a girl and confronted him on it, it destroyed him. She, essentially, made him feel so guilty that he felt that he had to kill himself."

Trebek was nodding with a small approving smile. Yet before I heard any praise, Aaron spoke again.

"But you have to admit," he began, looking straight at me, and then glanced at Snelgrove for his approval, "the morals are there. They are the underlying reasons that he reacted the way he did to Ratched. She reminded him that what he did was basically wrong. Sex, in the way that he committed it, is wrong."

"Yeah, but, whose to say the morals are really his?" I interrupted, thoroughly pleasing Snelgrove. I might have just started the first every willing debate in his class. He looked ready to accept his Teacher of the Year award. "Again, he wanted to be with that prostitute, I think that if he really had a choice, he wouldn't follow any sort of morals that Ratched expected him to. It was just that he was so manipulated by the women in his life, especially his mother, that he wasn't his own person anymore. They had so much power over him that she made him feel like the sky was falling for having sex."

After that, Snelgrove didn't feel the need to reign us in like Trebek would. He let us spar back and forth with our words, and I was ready to wave my white flag from the beginning. Aaron was just so arrogant. He did this thing, where, after he made an argument, he would shuffle back into his seat and glance over at his friend beside him. And then he would smirk, but not smirk at the same time, like he didn't know why I was trying to dispute his point of view, because no matter what anybody thought he was automatically right.

I hated him. And I hated myself, also. I had never spoken so much in a class in my life. I would let my eyes nervously dart around the room, practically begging someone to jump in and take the reigns from me. Someone needed to whack me over the head with a two-by-four. I wanted to shut up, but I couldn't.

Aaron and I argued over morals and manipulation for the better part of fifteen minutes. It was uncomfortable on so many levels, one of them being that he sat a couple of rows in front of me, and his presence was suffocating, his arrogance overwhelming. He just didn't understand that, in the novel, women were portrayed as evil, controlling bitches. I couldn't catch a breath.

It came to head after I finished a rant about how awful and sexually repressive the women were. Aaron did his stupid shuffling thing, and then he laughed and turned around to face me. "Are you a woman hater or something? You sound like a misogynist."

All the words that found me when it was time to debate left. My brain froze. I couldn't very well say that I was a woman and it would be incredibly weird if I was a misogynist. Fortunately, Mr. Snelgrove stepped in and changed the focus of the discussion.

Unfortunately, Aaron wasn't done muttering under his breath. He leaned over to his red-headed friend, whispering, "They gave the Felton to a total queer this year." His friend snickered, trying to cover it by hovering his fist over his mouth.

But it was no use, everyone heard. Except for the teacher.

My cheeks burned. I was hot to the touch. It was like I was back at Chelmsford High, being shoved into my locker and called a dyke.

My eyes stung. I held it together, though, until the period ended. I relearned my lesson; I was just never going to speak publicly again. Wasn't ever going to put myself out there. . . it wasn't ever worth it. Just like the tears I wasn't allowing myself to shed; useless. My attempt at expressing intelligence was reduced to a hateful jab at my sexual orientation.

When the bell rang at the end of the period, I had already been sitting in my seat with my shit ready to go for two minutes. My hurt had settled into a simmering anger. It was time to isolate myself before I demonstrated my emotions with some unnecessary, overdramatic gesture, like taking Aaron's pen and shoving it so far up his ass he would need brain surgery. . .

Naturally, I found myself speed walking past the courtyard, straight towards the end of the building, where I also found myself alone. I sunk against the wall, welcoming the scraping feeling of the brick against the bandages wrapped around my chest.

My stomach was hollowed out, and there was a bitter taste in my mouth. I couldn't shake the dead feeling. I had been trying so hard, going fucking crazy, and nothing had really changed. People would always be assholes. Boys especially.

As usual, however, I wasn't alone for long. My moment of quiet at the edge of the school was interrupted by Eric strolling down the lawn. I figured out pretty quickly that he always sat against the wall after Morning Prayer, Gym, and World Lit. He always sauntered down against the wall, never scraping himself like I did, and pulled out a smoke.

Today, I envied him his cigarette.

I was prepared to watch him suck the life out of one this morning, entertaining thoughts of the certain perks having a vice could bring. And I wanted a vice badly. I felt like I needed one, needed something to show the world that I had some sort of poison in me, and that it was eating me alive but I didn't care.

Vile. That's how I felt. Vile for being called a queer. Vile for dressing like a boy, for calling an old teacher up and taking his advice on a sock penis. Vile for deceiving everyone. Vile for going after what I wanted.

I didn't deserve anything, anyway.

And the cigarette? Yeah, that's what I needed. It would be a stamp on my forehead, telling everyone I was in enough shit to need something to take the edge off. And I would die quicker than I would if I didn't smoke. To be honest, a faster death, even if it wasn't happening tomorrow, sounded just fine.

Everyone, and I mean _everyone_, has a self-destruct button. It's kind of like that button on Deal or No Deal—big and round and red, and encased in a shiny, see-through box. Some people have their button out in the open, uncovered, and they whack the damn thing whenever the hell they feel like it. They get into all sorts of shit, and that's their choice. That's the way they get by.

Other people, they know it's there, but they typically ignore it. They occasionally stare at it and think about what it would be like to tilt the case back. It's scary and alluring at the same time. They even push it every once in awhile, but the shit they get into doesn't have the power to permanently damage their lives, unless they want it to.

Then there's a third group of people in the world who are ignorant bitches. They know all about the stupid button, but they choose to believe they don't actually have one. It's buried deep somewhere in their happy-go-lucky selves. They never see it. They never push it. They have perfectly happy, cheerful, dipped-in-rainbows lives. The shit they come across is never like the shit the people who push the button all the time deal with.

Staring at Eric so much caused him to turn and look at me, offering one goddamn delicious looking Marlboro. I had a little angel and devil version of Howie Mandel sitting on my shoulders, begging me to take the cigarette and deny the cigarette simultaneously.

It did look like a sweet deal.

But I was still too sick with myself. This morning, and every morning, most likely, I was the type of person to stare the Deal or No Deal button down in its box. I knew exactly what would entail if I pushed it, and I wanted it and didn't want it at the same time.

Finally, I looked away from Eric and shook my head. I didn't want it this morning. Shit wasn't that depressing. . . yet.

* * *

**AN: **Last chapter, I forgot to thank Erin, cause she helped me a lot. I really should thank Erin every chapter, because she puts up with me. But sometimes it's like I'm at the Academy Awards, and they've called my name, and I can't believe it! So I hobble up to the podium, I hold the little golden man, and I know there's this list in my bra with the names of the people I wanted to thank, just in case I should win. But, as soon as I open my mouth, I forget. And that's what happened last chapter in my author's note. I forgot Erin's name. You all would love Erin if you knew how much she helped me get these chapters out.

Anyway, I'm seriously, in two minutes, about to go off to my car and drive to the dentist and go through some painful mouth surgery. So, please, leave me some love. I'm going to need it. If I die (and this is me being dramatic) I told Erin she can continue this for me. She has the outline.


	9. Hungry Eyes

**AN: Hello ladies (and gents?) sorry it's been awhile. Rest assured, I'm not ever going to "quit" this story. I'll even give you the name of the thing you can blame all my late posting on: Behavioral Neuroendocrinology (now say that five times fast). **

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* * *

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"Love ridden I've looked at you  
With the focus I gave to my birthday candles  
I've wished on the lidded blue flames  
Under your brow  
And baby, I wished for you."  
_Love Ridden_, Fiona Apple

**Chapter 8: Hungry Eyes**

**Edward's POV**

He was staring at me. And I wasn't being paranoid, either. Out of the corner of my eye I could see every exaggerated move he was making, as if he needed to slow down so he could stare at me longer.

I turned to look over my shoulder at Emmett. His raised eyebrow confirmed it: Ben was being weird. He was watching me instead of changing for gym.

"You going to get ready?" I asked him. I quickly thrust my gym uniform over my head, suddenly feeling the need to be covered.

Ben blushed immediately, hurriedly gathering his clothes in his hands. "Um, yep. Yep, I am."

And then he turned and practically ran for the bathroom. He could be a track star when he wanted to be.

"Dude," Emmett said once he was gone, "Ben's crushing on you."

". . . Ha-ha," I deadpanned.

He laughed heartily. "Nope. I'm serious. I'm positive he just eye fucked you."

I twisted my other uniform, the one I had just taken off, until it was tightly coiled. Then I whipped it at Emmett's arm before I threw it in my locker. "Shut up. You're disgusting."

With a cocky grin, he rolled his shoulders. "Hey man, I saw you with Bree. It's Ben you need to worry about."

"Yeah," I muttered noncommittally. "Whatever. Let's just focus on stopping him from destroying our team in gym."

"Oh shit, I forgot all about that," Emmett groaned, sliding a hand down his cheek. "Let's go."

I pushed through the door that led to the gym. The way the fluorescent lights reflected off the shiny wood floor was blinding at first, and I could still smell the lingering scent of the most recent laminate layer. I inhaled deeply, already bored.

Everyone was required to practice before the games began in gym. Emmett hung back while I walked up to the crate in the center of the floor that held the different types of balls we were allowed to mess with. I shifted through dodge balls, baseballs, soccer balls, volleyballs, and basketballs before finding a football. It only made sense that that was the type of ball to practice with: it was the current game with which our class was supposed to be learning team building skills.

I was beginning to think that high school gym teachers don't know anything about anything, because if they did, they would know that I was not learning anything about team building and communication skills by playing football. This was mostly because I had already learned these skills at the age of seven on my pee-wee team. And it was also due to the fact that everyone was too annoyed with Ben Cheney by now to focus on anything else.

We had all tried to be patient at first, I could tell. All the different cliques in our class were generally good at getting along. From the first day that we all watched Ben trip over himself as he ran a lap, we knew he was one of those kids that wasn't hardwired for sports, even if he did have a short, stocky, athletic sort of body. He was missing a gene somewhere, and even with the frustrating rule that every team member had to touch the ball before someone scored, we all went easy on him.

That easy patience quickly morphed into something tedious. It was surprising, I guess, how quickly everyone lost their tolerance. There were other people who weren't that great, but Ben was an exception. Watching him try and figure out how to throw a football was like watching Edward Scissorhands try to open a door. He was just flat out impossible at sports. And after only two classes of witnessing the embarrassing, awkward nightmare that is Ben's attempt at athleticism, no one wanted to go to gym anymore.

Yet, here we were. I was lazily passing a football back and forth with Emmett, not even finding the desire to try and make him run for it anymore. There was no longer a desire to show off, no longer a wish to impress somebody.

Mr. Cohn soon came out of his little hole-in-the-wall office from the other side of the gym and called us all out to the field. I glanced around, looking for Ben.

"Hey," I said quietly to Emmett. "I don't see him. Maybe he's skipping."

Emmett's head swept around, and he let out a low whistle. "Jesus, I hope so."

We left our conversation at that and followed everyone else out onto the field. Eric Yorkie slammed into my shoulder at one point, and when he turned to apologize, he didn't even look like he was in his body.

What was weirder was that when he turned around to see who he had bumped into, his face broke out into a smug grin, only for a moment as he looked past my shoulder, before he said, "Sorry, Cullen."

I shrugged off his words and turned to see what made him smile that way, and was met with the sight of Ben hobbling out of the gym doors, half-jogging to catch up with everyone.

I looked straight ahead and spoke to Emmett. "We jinxed ourselves."

"What?"

"Look behind you."

He twisted his neck, and upon seeing Ben, he cursed. "Damnit. What the fuck is he doing anyway?"

I craned my head backwards to see for myself. Ben had stopped jogging for a moment, and was slightly hunched over. He had one hand going down his shirt, and the other going up, as he began wrestling with himself underneath the fabric.

"Maybe he's got itchy tits?" Emmett suggested.

I barked out a laugh as we came to a stop behind the rest of our class. Mr. Cohn didn't seem to pleased with that, as he had just tried to get everybody to shut up. "Something funny, Mr. Cullen?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Now everyone knows what game we're playing. You should have all warmed up inside—" Cohn paused and raised his clipboard to the side of his mouth as if it were a megaphone. "Mr. Cheney! We would like to start class sometime today, and I don't want to be here all weekend. So, if you could hurry it up and get down here I would appreciate it!"

Everyone chuckled a little as Ben came running over, his arms flailing around as usual. He came to a stop just to the right and little behind me, panting slightly. If I tilted my head a bit, I could see him out of the corner of my eye.

And I didn't know what to think about what I saw.

His chest was still heaving slightly, his eyes squinting closed in the sunlight, one hand quickly brushed through his hair, and the other. . .

The other was scratching himself, in more ways than one. First, I should mention that his whole scratching technique was unlike anything I had ever seen. Most normal people make a claw with their hands and scratch until the problem is gone.

Ben did not do that. No, his hand was flat, his palm rocking back and forward over his the left side of his chest in a steady motion, like a carpenter sanding down a piece of wood.

He switched to his left hand and did the same thing with his right side, huffing lightly, as if the feeling were _that _good. I began wondering if it were his lungs he had trouble with, or if he really did have itchy nipples. . .

Then, when he was done, he let out one last pant, and straightened up. He arched backwards, pushing his chest forward in the stretch, and then released, giving himself one last rub. . . on his torso.

His right hand then moved down to his crotch, where his technique was also completely unique. He didn't go for the quick grab and pull that most everyone does. No, instead he latched on, deciding that now was the time to make his hands a claw, and gripped himself tight as he slowly shifted himself into place.

I wanted to cry out in sympathy for the pain he must have been putting himself through. No man should try and detach his own balls the way Ben was doing. . . it was just _wrong_.

_Don't you love yourself?_ I wanted to ask. _Don't put your balls through that torture, no matter what may be going on in your pants!_

Without realizing it, I had twisted so that I could better frown at Ben in disbelief at what he was doing to himself. His head snapped up and connected with mine, a blush flooded his face and his eyes widened, and I snapped my head away before anything else happened.

_What the hell. . .? _I tried to think about everything I knew about Ben that would explain why he was so weird.

For one, his mom was dead. That could explain a lot. Two, he was smart enough to win the Felton and come here—maybe he's all brains and no common sense. Three, his dad still 'needed' him at home. I didn't even want to think about what that could mean. Four, his iPod showed that he absolutely doesn't give a crap about what the word _genre_ means. That's all right though, it shows he's open minded. Five, he sucks at sports and falls all the time. And that's just sad. And six, he likes to stare. Which is just creepy.

As if there was some magnet connecting me to him, my head swiveled around and confirmed the sneaky feeling that made me aware of the magnet in the first place. Ben's flush was fading away, and he was staring at me like it was his effing job.

"—so now you guys just need to decide if you want pennies or do shirt and skins. Probably shirts and skins, right?" Cohn finished, and I faced him, realizing that I didn't hear a word of his instructions. All of my peers were nodding and grumbling in approval, though.

"Pennies!" a voice squeaked softly behind me, and everyone apparently heard, because we all turned to look at Ben.

"Excuse me?" Cohn asked. "It's hot out, I don't know if you noticed, Mr. Cheney. You want to add an extra layer onto half of your classmates in this weather? You want them to pass out?"

Ben began fidgeting the longer he was under the scrutiny of our entire gym class. The spotlight was not for him, another thing I realized I already knew if I just recalled the way he acted on his first day at the commencement speech. "N-no," he stuttered, his voice still higher than normal. "I don't."

"Well then how about you be a shirt, since you seem so uncomfortable with the idea of skin," Cohn offered, sounding vaguely sincere, but mostly exasperated.

I began tittering along with everyone else, until I saw Ben's face. The way he frowned and looked at his shoes told me was more hurt over being called out on than he would ever let on.

Mr. Cohn quickly separated us into our groups then, already forgetting about embarrassing one of his students. Thank God Emmett paid attention to what he had said, because otherwise I wouldn't have known what was happening.

I was a shirt, along with Emmett, Ben, and six other guys. We walked off to our side of the field and huddled, while the other half of our class took off their shirts and did the same thing on the opposite side.

Although we had all laughed, I knew not a single one of us would tell Ben that, technically, it was against school rules to go shirtless during class, even if it was gym, and that Cohn was just an old teacher who was retiring soon and didn't care about rules anymore. If it was more comfortable to do shirt and skins than pennies in this weather, then he was going to do it.

In a matter of seconds our team had a game plan for touch football hammered out. I noticed that, like he had done all week, Ben hadn't said anything. He just went and stood far right of everyone, and looked at the ground.

Before I went to my place in the line I ran over to him, tapping him gently on the shoulder. He looked confused; I hadn't been a stalker around him like I was last week, I had left him alone after our conversation about death and Kurt Cobain. "Chin up," I said, and then jogged over to my spot.

I began the game by snapping the ball to Emmett, who ran ahead and passed it to Mike. We did a good job of moving forward and avoiding the other team. . . until it was time to pass the ball to Ben.

Everything seemed to slow down at once. Tyler was in possession of the ball. He skidded to a stop in preparation to hand it to Ben. Tyler glanced around, found his teammate, and saw without surprise that he was unguarded.

Of course, that didn't last for long. Once the other team realized that Ben was the only person to pass to before we could score, they knew it was all too easy. Three of them ran over to cover him. Ben, in a move that showed shocking initiative, ran around them.

Tyler saw the opportunity and lobbed the ball to him. Ben ran, arms out, ready to actually catch it. Our team was so surprised we all began shouting encouragement at him.

"Go, Ben!"

"You got it!"

"We've got you covered, go!"

And miraculously, he caught it. The ball sailed effortlessly into his waiting arms. Our team whooped and hollered in approval, happy that Ben finally did something right.

Ben stopped running once he realized that he was actually holding the football in his hands. He looked up, and his eyes immediately searched for me. As soon as they found me, he began to smile.

"Run, Ben!" Emmett continued to shout, but Ben didn't notice. He was still too proud that he caught the ball.

I think everything stopped. The game was still in mid-swing, people noticed the momentous event that just occurred, but everything stilled for Ben. And it affected me. The air slowed down around me, too. I didn't care that much that he finally caught the ball, and I wanted things to keep moving, but it was still weird to see Ben smile the way that he was. It was. . . nice? Like he finally caught a break in gym.

And then Eric Yorkie, from the other team, jogged forward and tagged him with both hands. And again, for the millionth time in gym this week, we lost possession of the ball.

I realized then how fast everything had actually happened. Really, it was only seconds in which Ben ran for the ball, caught it, turned and smiled, and then was tagged. Again, it was just something about the pride in Ben's eyes and smile that screeched time to a halt.

Ben wouldn't have that pride return to his face ever again, it seemed. As soon as the game started up again, things just got worse.

And I wanted to die.

Ben was running like he didn't have knees, as if he had one long solid bone connecting his hip to his ankle. His head jutted forward randomly, making it looking like it was his neck that propelled his body forward instead of his feet. His arms. . . his arms could only be described as belonging to an old woman, what with the way his wrist curled over, his elbows at a ninety degree angle at his side, like he was gripping onto a shopping cart for dear life.

I wanted it to all be over, to put him out of his misery. I wanted class to end. It was finally killing me how horrible he was in gym.

The most infuriating aspect of it all was when he would stop running, when he would stand off to the side as if he was hoping everyone would forget that they were obligated to pass to him, and stare at me. It was a repeat of the locker room and it was uncomfortable.

Every time I would turn to look for him, to see if he would have a miraculous repeat catch, he was already looking in my direction, ready to look away as if he hadn't been the one to bore a hole in my head with his eyes first.

It was Emmett who came up to me after one particularly horrible play and explained the weird eye tag. I didn't even have to voice my thoughts aloud, to ask for clarification, it was that obvious what I was confused about.

"He looks hungry," Emmett remarked, wiping his chin on the collar of his shirt.

"What?"

"He looks like he wants to fucking eat you, Edward. Are you even friends with him? What's up with him?"

Eat me. . . hungry. . . It clicked. Ben had. . . hungry eyes? And I was freaked out.

"I don't know," I said harshly. "I think I've talked to him a total of three times. He's sketching me out. I don't know what his problem is today."

"Well maybe you need to have another talk with him. Straighten him out." Emmett raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and I scowled as I realized how right he was.

After that, the anger wasn't that easy to put on a damper on. I didn't know anything anymore. I had shifted from sheer boredom to anger and now the feeling was lodged in my chest. I had wanted him to like me, to feel welcomed at school, because I knew how scary it could be to be labeled as a Felton winner. I didn't want him to feel like the odd one out, like when I started high school here.

And now I didn't want him to know me if he was going to glance at me like I was a piece of meat.

The last straw was when Ben subconsciously licked his lips and stared in my direction while passing the ball to Eric, effectively giving the opposing team possession of the ball again _and_ put them in position to get the winning score.

Everyone moaned, muttering under their breath, but I lost it.

"_What_ is the _matter_ with you?" I groaned. "What are you doing looking at me? Did you even realize you passed to the other team?! _Stop staring and pay effing attention!_"

My voice wasn't quite a yell, but it echoed almost deafeningly across the fields. Ben looked like the proverbial deer caught in headlights.

"Take it easy, Cullen," Mr. Cohn warned. "Ben, class is almost over. Why don't you take a break and go get changed early."

Ben tripped off to the building as fast as he could, his cheeks burning, grass stains on his forearms and shirt from where he fell. . . and I thought I heard an embarrassing sniffle.

So what if he had been staring at me like a creep all morning, the sudden guilt felt like disgusting cough syrup sliding down my throat. People were now laughing at Ben. Not everyone, but most.

"Dude," Emmett laughed, coming over to me. "That was hilarious."

"Jesus," I muttered, trying to justify my anger. "I mean, he does know who's on his team, right? He just proved that he _does _know how to use his arms. . ."

"You should've seen your face."

"Why in the world was he staring at me like that? He should've been paying attention."

"Doesn't matter. Everyone thought it was the funniest shit. Even Cohn."

"I was a jerk," I murmured.

"What?"

"I just gave a kid with a hard life a hard time. Damnit, I have to apologize."

Emmett scratched his brow. "Uh, I thought you weren't friends."

"We're not."

"So you don't have to apologize for anything. He just has to suck it up."

"I know, but I do."

Emmett looked me over for a moment. "Whatever, you do what you have to do."

Class did end soon after that, with everyone having their chuckle and then forgetting about it the next second. But I couldn't forget about my little outburst, and I had a feeling that Ben wouldn't either. I didn't know why. Normally, I was exactly the type of person to just move on, brush it off. For some reason or other, my conscience was eating at me. It didn't help that my conscience had the voice of my mom.

When we were finally released back into the locker rooms, I changed back into my regular uniform rather violently, frustrated because I knew I had to give a quick apology that I didn't want to feel like giving.

It wasn't an obligation. . . not entirely guilt. It was something else.

I stalked along the hallways after I had redressed. Emmett sensed that I was serious about apologizing and didn't try to follow me. There was really only one place to go, anyway. I didn't think that Ben would change his habits in a week. When you're new, you pick a comfort spot and stick to it.

Yet, when I finally burst through the main doors, I couldn't recognize Ben among the tables. Typically, I would always walk past him, sitting alone off to the right, near the end of the building.

So I decided not to trust my eyes. I calmly made my way down the stone pathway, ready to approach and say a quick sorry. And still, he wasn't where I expected him to be.

I turned and scanned the other tables, but there was no Ben sitting among any of the benches.

That was when I heard it: strangled coughing, followed by scratchy laughter. I listened to it for a moment, somewhat distracted from my search, as I thought about what was so funny. Then, when there was a hissed cough and oddly familiar laughing, I became more curious and chose to investigate.

Following the sound, I discovered Ben and Eric sitting around the corner of the building out of sight from the courtyard, with their legs sprawled out in front of them, while Eric laughed and Ben smoked.

_Wait. . . smoked?_

"When did you start smoking?"

Both Ben and Eric's heads jerked up, unaware that I had found them.

"Since thirty seconds ago," Eric replied. I squashed the desire to inform him that I hadn't been asking him, and focused on the person I wanted to respond. Ben, however, decided that he wasn't going to acknowledge me.

"What made you want to start?" I asked Ben.

Of course, he was silent while Eric started his bronchitis-like snickering. After a somewhat strange, tense couple of seconds, Ben glanced up, barely even meeting my eyes, and shrugged.

"_Okay_. . .," I said under my breath. "Uh, look, I just wanted to find you and say—"

"I'm outta here," Eric announced, interrupting me as he jumped to his feet. "You coming?" he asked Ben.

Ben just sat there, staring at his hands while he practiced his flick. "No," he said, so softly that I almost didn't hear him.

But Eric definitely did hear, and looked a little pissed. "Whatever. See you later," he sighed, and then began jogging away toward the dorm.

Well, this was now officially the most awkward moment of my life. "So, sorry. That's what I wanted to say," I finished lamely.

I stood there, looking off into the distance, waiting for some unemotional, brief acknowledgment that I can recognize when I've been somewhat of a jerk and know how to apologize. I started to doubt that I had actually spoken when the silence was still there.

Yet when I looked back down he was staring upward, with some recognition on his face that I had said something. He wasn't really there, though. He could see me, but his thoughts were somewhere else.

"What are you sorry about?" Ben asked, his eyes shifting to his cigarette. He frowned before he brought it back up to his lips.

"Gym," I said simply.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, leaning his head back against the building. I was a little entranced by the way the smoke came out of his lips. The sun seemed to illuminate just how pale and slender he really was, how he didn't even have much of an Adam's apple.

"So, since when do you smoke?" I asked again.

"Well, Eric was basically right," he replied, closing his eyes and taking another drag. "About a minute ago. It sucked at first, but it's getting better."

I hesitated a moment, and then decided I would sit beside him. "So then it's the perfect time for you to quit."

The dorm I was staring at was ripped from my focus when I realized that Ben had jerked away, his legs thrashing as he pushed himself farther away from me along the wall.

"Why the fuck do you care?" he seethed. "Seriously, why the fuck do you care?"

Taken slightly aback, I tried to diffuse his anger. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do, you can do whatever you want."

"No," he said, strangely calm. He shook his head, slowly, menacingly. "That's exactly what you're doing."

"Uh, well, I was just thinking that you just started. . . it's a good time to stop, before you get addicted."

"What if I want to be addicted?"

I twisted my head to get a better look. I couldn't read any emotion on him. He had a pretty perfect poker face. "Then go ahead and smoke."

He stood abruptly then, coughing a little. "No. . . Fucking, I don't want to smoke anymore. You just ruined it for me." And then he rubbed the cigarette into the ground with the toe of his shoe.

"Okay. . ."

He quickly patted nonexistent dirt of his pants and his bag, and came to stand in front of me. "Listen, you can shout your head off at me in gym, I know I suck, and I know I fuck up just about everyday. But then don't stalk me and pretend like you give a shit. Okay?"

He started to walk away, and there was a part of me that really wanted him to just go, to just get as far as from me as possible, because I felt so weird around him all the time. Yet there was a much larger part of me that felt even guiltier for just watching him go. It was almost like I had led him on, acting like a friend and humiliating him in class. And then those feelings were there again like a fly you thought you had swatted away for good, but it just kept coming back. . . _You want him to like you. You want him to feel like he belongs here._

Standing at a much slower rate, and not bothering to brush anything off my clothes, I followed after him. He had walked a good way away from our spot by the wall, and then stopped.

* * *

**Bella's POV**

_Fuck. I don't have anywhere to go._

Well, that was successful, in a very non-successful way. Stalking off like a wet hen and then stopping in the middle of the way to the dorms when I realized that I didn't have a room to go to. Very, very successful. I should get an Oscar for that little performance.

I swayed on the spot, the cigarettes, empty stomach, and sleepless nights—_thank you Pedro and Luisa for being so horny_—were making me dizzy. Yet all those feelings were eclipsed by the fact that I had finally pushed my stupid Deal or No Deal self-destruct button and then _he _came along and made me regret it.

Fucking perfect asshole, whose back looks like an amazing human pillow, and whose bare chest is Ken Barbie material. It was completely his fault I was such a fuck up in gym. He shouldn't be allowed to be naked in a locker room. I've no idea why none of the guys who've seen him aren't gay right now.

Hell, it's probably because they aren't girls. My poor vagina is alone in a male wilderness. The testosterone is suffocating.

Where did my estrogen go? My will to paint nails and buy pretty bras and not smoke because I didn't want crinkly lips at an early age? I can feel it slipping away into my version of the male psyche the longer I'm here. It sucks. It's also highly likely that, since I will keep going on this track, my ovaries will shrivel up and my uterus will disappear, and then I won't have to worry about rogue tampons anymore.

_I wonder what will happen to my boobs?_

Before I could contemplate that further I was aware of Edward coming up behind me. Feeling preemptive, I decided to speak before he could also ruin my already failed attempt at escape.

"Listen, Surgeon General, I don't need you to follow after me. I won't smoke again. I'm not trying to sneak off and bum another one off Eric Yorkie. Pinky promise."

But my words fell flat. Instead of responding with something as equally snippy, Edward just decided to ignore me. It was strange. He didn't look me in the eye, nor did he try to huff out his annoyance with me. He slowly walked up beside me, his eyes trained on my face. Until, that is, the ground captured his attention.

He had stopped beside me, mouth open, body angled to start a conversation, and the suddenly the pavement was better to look at than my face.

I thought about walking away without him noticing, but then again, there still wasn't anywhere I could go where he couldn't find me. I was left to stand squeamishly beside him, until he finally did speak.

"So," he began, looking back up to my face. "Are you going?"

_What?_

"To Homecoming," he clarified, and then pointed to the ground by my feet.

I looked down and paid attention this time. My foot, it seemed, was one of many that had trampled over a white flyer that been forgotten on the sidewalk. Someone at this school was either a computer graphics wiz, or a closet graffiti artist, because the word 'Homecoming' at the top of the page looked very cool.

"No," I responded.

"Why not?"

I stared at him, incredulous. Were we really going to have a rehash of my _why do you care?_ speech?

"Why would I?" I countered.

"Because," he stated simply, "you're the Felton winner and teachers expect you to be there."

I blanched. "Are you for real? Winning that stupid scholarship requires me to attend social functions against my will? That wasn't in the fine print on the application."

Edward smiled sympathetically. "Oh, I am for real. It's not required. It's one of those unwritten laws that exist here. You show up, you make the adults proud that you're a good puppet, and then school is smooth sailing."

"Are you serious?" I said stupidly. "I go to a dance and school will be easy? What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means that you've shown your face in public as a happy camper at this school. It's publicity," he explained. "Homecoming isn't some lame dance in a gym. They rent out a hotel ballroom. There's sponsors, alumni—all people who usually donate to the school, people who contribute to the very scholarship that brought you here. If you don't show, they get angry. It's a small price to pay to avoid angry adults on a power trip."

I nodded, thinking seriously about how blue-blooded this place was. Everything about it was entirely beyond my expectations. Who knew such a prestigious, private Catholic school would get their panties all up in a bunch over their public image? It appeared that as much as I had experienced certain things about life the hard way, there were still other aspects I had yet to learn.

I turned to look at Edward, who had watched my quiet musing with interest.

"I can't believe it," I muttered.

He snorted, as if to say, _but what else do you expect?_

I sighed. It looked like I really had to go. I could be a wallflower, make small talk with random people whose names I won't remember for one night.

Resigned to my fate, I asked the most pressing question I had on my mind. "What the hell am I supposed to wear?"

Edward laughed, _really _laughed. "That's what you're worried about? It isn't obvious from my description that this is a formal event? You have to wear a fancy suit."

"Like a tux?"

_Why oh why isn't the school uniform good enough?_ I felt my cheeks start to burn with embarrassment.

"No." He shook his head, still amused with me. "Nothing as fancy as _that_. You have to wear a nice suit, though."

I groaned. "And what if I don't have a suit? Do they realize that that scholarship means I don't have that kind of money?" _To pull off this charade to this extent?_ I silently added.

"This might come as a surprise, but not everyone who wins the scholarship necessarily needs the money. Usually it's just for show on a resume or college application. Besides, you can rent one."

Would Charlie help me with this? Finding a suit? I thought over my school and work schedule and his work schedule, and I couldn't find a time where we'd both be home that wasn't well past nightfall.

I though about Mr. Voltrain, maybe he could help? He did say something about someone always being there to watch out for me, and I assumed he was referring to himself. This would definitely be one of those times I needed someone's help.

"What are you thinking about?" Edward asked, interrupting the silence I had, again, caused.

This time when I looked into his eyes I wondered if I could really say what I needed to say, if I wasn't going to sound like I was fishing for help, like I was the world's biggest charity case. I vaguely remembered being furious with him what felt like two seconds earlier, but all my fatigue and the new knowledge that I was also a publicity puppet washed it away.

Feeling even more resigned to my hopelessness, I decided to just ask.

"I. . . I don't really, uh, have a way. . .? I mean, I don't know where to go to get. . . uh, I need help?"

I thought he would laugh at my stuttering, because to my ears I sounded just as stupid as I did when I asked about what I should wear. However, he looked more concerned than entertained by my foolishness.

"What?"

"When is this thing, anyway?" I asked, quickly changing the topic. I didn't like seeing concern on anyone's face.

"Couple of weeks, I think."

He shifted his bag on his shoulder and glanced at his watch, forcing me to realize that this was the middle of the school day, and soon we would have places we'd need to be. I decided to just get on with it.

"Okay, well, I don't really have time to have my dad take me to some place. . ." I trailed off, hoping beyond hope that Edward would try to understand what my pride wouldn't let me say.

His eyes widened slightly, and I was relieved to see that he picked up on my very vague insinuation. "Oh, you need me to show you some place where you could get a suit?"

"Well, uh. . . you don't have to personally—"

"We can go after school sometime next week if you want," he offered.

I swallowed, more nervous about my inadequacies in front of someone who didn't have any than a rabbit in front of a fox. "O-okay."

_Unbelievable. _The same who screamed at me in gym was capable of being a genuinely nice person. His eyes, the levelness of his voice,_ everything_, told me he wasn't trying to take pity on me, and I didn't know how to react. My flight instincts were kicking in, but I squashed them down and did the normal thing. "Thanks."

Edward smiled. "No problem. We'll talk next week, yeah? I just realized I'm supposed to meet with the principal before my next class."

"Okay," I nodded, trying to play it cool.

He started walking in the opposite direction, but started chuckling. He turned back towards me, still laughing to himself. "And if I were the Surgeon General, I would've fed you some line about smoking causing lung cancer, heart disease, and emphysema. I wouldn't have told you to do it." He waved before turning back again. "See you next week, Ben."

In a daze, I watched him leave. He was nearly back inside the building before it finally hit me.

I had plans to go _clothes shopping_ with Edward Cullen.


	10. OMG, Shopping

**AN**: Oh hai ladiez (sometimes I wish I was a lolcat). Let's get down to business. Got more than a couple things to say 'cause it's been awhile.

1) I think by the way I worded this chapter you won't need a recap. But let me know if you do.

2) Go read "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5.

3) Instead of Ben/Bella just call her **Benella**. Forgot who first told me about that nickname, otherwise I'd give them credit right now.

4) Thank you for the help, Erin.

5) You're going to be hypnotized at the end of this chapter.

6) There was quite an increase in readers in my absence, due to some sort of rec I'm not sure about, and I'd like it if you'd introduce yourself to me in a review. I don't care if English isn't your first language. I had a dream the other night, no joke, where I had 27 reviews from people that only spoke Portuguese, and I was like "oh shit! I speak Spanish!" And then somehow I magically understood the reviews anyway (they all loved me, naturally) and I answered the reviews in English with my two Portuguese phrases thrown in there: "no falla Portugués" and "obrigada."

..._Anyway_...

7) Reviews. I reply to each one of them, but I feel like I've forgotten a couple of people recently, so I'm sorry about that. It's also why I'm sincere about you introducing yourself--I reply every time and I like to get to know you guys.

8) **Please read this even if you haven't read anything else yet**: Remember the flashback where James calls Bella a dyke at Chelmsford High, and when Aaron calls her a gay woman hater at St. Bart's--it might help make something later in the chapter make more sense if you remember this.

9) I'm shutting up now. Enjoy, I hope.

* * *

**Chapter 9: OMG, Shopping **

A week later and I still couldn't really believe it was going to happen. I was going to go clothes shopping with a boy like we were girls. I had this crazy image in my head of Edward and I having so much fun shopping we were skipping down the aisles in front of stores, holding hands and smiling like idiots, while we left trails of money behind us. We were some sort of demented modern version of Hansel and Gretel. It was gross, and I wanted to back out.

But I couldn't back out. I committed myself to that stupid Homecoming dance in one conversation. I believed Edward up front when he talked about the politics of being the Felton winner at such a prestigious high school. I didn't know why I went along with anything he said so easily, so quickly. He would just look me in the eye, and he was always so sincere with me, whereas other guys at the school spent so much time trying to play it off like their shit didn't stink, that I went along with whatever he talked about. I trusted him because he made it effortless.

I had ten minutes to kill before I was supposed to meet Edward by his car in the senior's parking lot. I didn't know what to do with myself until then. And the urge was still there, the urge to back out and run away. I could disappear very easily in ten minutes. In that short amount of time, I could nearly be at the bus stop that would take me home to Chelmsford. Because as much as I trusted Edward's words when he spoke to me in person, when I was away from him it was simple to think that it was all bullshit, and that I was being a gullible girl who wanted to fit in more than she was willing to admit.

I rolled my thoughts around in my mind as I slowly walked down the halls, passing by the empty art rooms: _More than _she_ was willing to admit. . . . More than_ he_ was willing to admit. . . . She. . . He. . . He-She. . . It. . . _

Do I refer to myself as a male? Even mentally? It was an ongoing inner debate. I couldn't decide. There were some things I refused to do in order to remind myself that I was—am—female, such as leaving my armpits unshaved. I refused to let my hair grow wild there. I could ignore my legs, but I could not ignore my armpits. It was just too itchy and disgusting and smelly: everything that appalled my girly sensibilities. I just didn't know if thinking of myself as a man was going too far.

It could come true. I could _think _it into a reality. It could get to the point that I believed that I was male so thoroughly that I'd start saving up for the operation. Some people were like that. That happened. And I figured I had already sufficiently proven to myself that I was unstable enough to be swayed into anything.

On that train of thought, I checked my cell phone for the time. Again. I was pretty sure I had checked the thing eighty times at that point, and as the most recent illumination of the screen showed me, only three minutes had ticked by.

I decided to go find a bathroom before I went anywhere in a car for a long period of time. Guys don't pee as much as girls, and so I reasoned that I should get it out of the way or end up having to deal with the numerous embarrassments that could come with having to pee later. For example, I was not in the mood to discover how to pee standing up in the company of strangers in a public restroom today. This meant I would also have to avoid anything liquid like the plague. . . soda, water, coffee, anything that would cause me to piss myself frequently.

It was fucking perfect that I had had Painting last today. The art hallway was always the quickest thing to be deserted, especially on a Friday, and I never encountered anyone whenever I would use this hallway after school to pee sitting down.

It took me just seconds to get there before I sluggishly pushed the door open, dragging my feet along. Seeing as I had plenty of time to waste before I had somewhere to be, all of my motions were very slow.

Which was why I nearly jumped out of my skin when I came face to face with Jasper, who had to jump back out of the way as I tried to open the door.

"Damnit, Cheney!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock. After a moment of heart failure, I snapped back to life and moved out of his way. But he didn't walk out of the bathroom, and I stood there awkwardly while I waited for him to make the first move.

"Sorry," I said eventually. He ignored me, and turned back to walk further into the bathroom.

I don't know why I was still frozen, but I was, so I watched with some level of condescension as Jasper began to pick through the trash bins under the paper towel dispensers. It was another thing I added to my list of reasons why I hated him.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. Our mutual hatred had cultivated itself nicely over the last week, and short, hostile conversations were quickly becoming the norm whenever we were unfortunate enough to be alone together.

"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" he snapped, not even looking up as his hand carefully picked through used paper towels. "I'm fucking digging through the fucking trash."

I groaned internally, instantly aware of his intentions were for what he was doing. It was never going to end with this kid, this manhunt for the tampon owner. "Whatever," I said, and backed out of the bathroom, determined to find someplace else to pee.

"Yeah, whatever to you too," I heard him mutter as the door shut. I just shook my head and walked along, hating that I happened to be the tampon owner. At least Jasper's hate was directed towards the right person, even if he didn't know it.

I stumbled around, found another bathroom, tried to drag my actions out as much as I could. And thankfully, time finally sped up. The ten minutes were over, and I made my way out to the parking lot.

There weren't too many cars where the seniors parked. I was able to find Edward sitting in the small silver car he described to me earlier rather easily, and tapped on his passenger window to let him know I was there.

He barely moved when I knocked gently, only slightly tilting his head to check and see who was standing there. He unlocked the door with a flick of his hand, and I scrambled in to sit down and buckle up. It shocked me how much I liked the leather seats, it showed how long it had been since I'd rode in an actual vehicle. Riding buses, I reasoned, tend to make a person more grateful of such things.

"Hey," I said to him. "Thanks for taking me."

Edward nodded. Didn't even look over.

Trying not to read too much into it, I closed the door, but felt like it didn't shut right. So I tried again, and to my mortification my hands were shaking from the nerves I was trying to hide. Edward ignored me and started up the car.

When he continued to act like I wasn't even there, I realized that maybe I should've faked sick, or said anything to back out, since this seemed like it was going to be the most painful car ride in the history of automobiles.

* * *

**Edward's POV**

I could see only myself and Ben.

That might not make that much sense. Of course I could see Ben, I was looking at him as he got into my car. I was thinking more about figuratively seeing Ben, seeing myself, and how when I offered to give him a ride to the mall, I could only see the two of us in my head.

That might not make that much sense either, but it was difficult to explain to even myself. But I knew this realization was important.

My whole life, whenever I made a choice, I could see someone in my head. When I applied for the Felton when I was thirteen my parents were not only in my face about it, they were in my head. They were there. . . creepy floating heads in my brain. So was my interviewer from Columbia when I volunteered at the hospital over the summer. Minor decisions about my homework or grades, my college applications, also put my favorite teachers and Rogers in my head. Superficial things, tiny things that shouldn't put other people in your head, like brands of face wash, hair style, and clothes all put my mother in my head.

And why were all these people in my head whenever I made a decision? Looking at Ben as he shut the passenger door, and then re-shut it when he thought it didn't close right, I was finally able to answer that question for myself.

Those people—that small, influential group of people—were the people I was making the decisions for, because of. . . they were the persons who my decisions revolved around. I thought about what they would think of my choices, how they would affect them. It was never myself. At a time in my life when I felt I should be completely selfish because no one else should be depending on me, I wasn't selfish at all. I made decisions based on other people, on their approval. Did I have a choice when it came down to it? I could have ignored every meaningful stare, every pointed glance, every manipulative sentence that has influenced me this whole time, and I could have just acted like an obnoxious teenager anyway.

But I never did anything blatantly rebellious. I was comfortable being the star pupil and then screwing around when no one was looking. My parents and my teachers had their perceptions about me, and I could dance when they wanted me to dance (particularly Rogers), and then when I was alone—or even when I'm on my own someday—I could finally do whatever I wanted to do.

Right now I did the typical things behind closed doors. Things that were once fun, but were now also starting to bore me, like drinking and smoking occasionally. But helping Ben out—this was something that I was doing intrinsically, for myself. No one else was bopping around in my head. Just me. Just Ben. Just the only people involved in the current situation that were important.

It occurred to me, as I began the half hour long drive to the mall, that Ben was something I could do for myself. I could do Ben behind closed doors.

_Shit_ that sounded disgusting. But I didn't mean it to sound perverted like that. . . _Freaking A, Cullen_. . . I meant that I _could_ be his friend.

Nothing more than that.

I finally realized that we had been sitting there in silence for far too long. I had been so absorbed in myself I didn't notice how weird it had gotten in the car. Ben was sitting as rigid as a board in his seat, barely even turning his head to look out the window.

I didn't think he'd be that uncomfortable. But then again, I had no clue what to expect whenever he was around. He could be pissy, or we'd have some random intense conversation, or whatever… Small conversation with Ben was somehow never very small, and usually unpredictable.

I guess I expected him to start talking. Wasn't that normally how it happened? I couldn't remember how any of our conversations started. Of course I could recall what was said, but who began everything? Was it me? I was always going up to him, trying to help him blend in because he was always sitting off alone somewhere, and no one would go near him.

I couldn't even remember if he'd said something as he got in the car. He must've. He's not that socially stunted, not to the point where he'd be unable to acknowledge a person who was doing something for him. . .

The quiet was too much. There had to be something to fill it. I didn't care if it was the sort of mindless chatter I expected from Bree or the bro-like comments from Emmett, I wouldn't even mind conspiracies like the kind Jasper cooked up. _Anything_.

With one hand on the wheel I began fumbling around in the compartment right behind my center console where I kept mix CDs. I probably should've asked if Ben even wanted to listen to anything, or if there was something he preferred out of my small stack. But I didn't, I just picked one without even looking and threw it in, grateful that there was something to occupy my ears if not my mind.

Because as the music started to play, I realized that not even Incubus could take my mind off the fact that the atmosphere in the car was stiffer than a dead body.

We continued to drive in silence. Since I had nothing better to do I made sure I was acting the perfect driver: hands at ten and two, no tailgating, no speeding, checking all my mirrors every three to five seconds. The works.

_Maybe I could play the ABC game by myself, in my head, to pass the time. Because that's not lame. Nope. _

"Is this the whole album?" Ben's question snapped me out of it. I only felt marginally relieved.

"I don't know," I replied, and ejected the disc mid-note to look at the CD front. "Guess it is," I shrugged and put it back in, wondering when I put an actual CD in with all the mixes in my car.

"That's. . . cool," Ben said, faltering. My eyebrows raised themselves. "It's just that you don't run into a lot of people who have complete albums, who really know the artist they listen to."

"I know a bunch of people that have every Incubus—or whatever artist they like—album," I said as I looked at the road in front of me, but didn't really see it. "Or at least all the ones they think are good."

"Really?" I saw his face scrunched up when I glanced over. "That's kind of strange. I know too many people who are ruined by iTunes. You know, they hear one song and buy it," he explained. "They rarely _know_ the whole album."

"Yeah, but that's only people who don't really give two shits about music. And it's not really strange to know people who are familiar with whole albums, if you think about it," I defended. "We grew up when CDs were still popular, before the Apple company and iTunes dominated everything."

"Huh," Ben mumbled, thinking. "Well then it sounds like you're surrounded by pretty cool people, if they're that into music."

It sounded like he didn't know what to say, and his words struck me as odd. It took me actually saying it out loud to understand why. "You are too," I pointed out.

"What?"

"You're surrounded by people who are into music. If you'd just talk to them you'd figure that out," I said bluntly.

"I talk to Eric Yorkie," Ben replied with a grumble.

I wondered if he was really offended. "Eric Yorkie. . .," I repeated the name, dubious.

"Yeah."

I had to roll my lips inward to hold back a quick retort and a laugh. Ben noticed, and cracked a smile, almost as if he were relieved.

"He's kinda fucking weird, though."

I barked a laugh, and looked over at him. "No kidding. How'd you figure that?"

He smirked, sort of acerbically, arrogantly. "Like I said, I fucking talk to him."

We looked at each other, sarcastically, knowingly, and settled into a silence that was actually comfortable. I didn't need to ask why he hanged with Yorkie if he was so weird because I was a new kid once. I was friends with the wrong people just because there was no one else.

"He literally hates everyone, you know," Ben said suddenly, shifting more towards me in his seat. "I think he thinks the entire school has it out for him."

"Not surprised," I snorted.

"He warned me to stay away from you and Aaron Matthews once." He said it like he couldn't believe that Eric had told him that, and neither could I.

And I guess I was silent for too long, thinking about what _I_ could've done to him to make him say that, because Ben felt the need to jump in with an explanation. "Sorry, damn, that sounded gossipy."

I laughed it off. "No, don't worry about it. I'm just actually surprised this time, 'cause I'm pretty certain I've spoken to him, what, three times in the three full years we've been in school. . .? God, he's strange."

I could see Ben shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. "Yeah, I've spoken to him more than that and I have no idea what's up his butt. Reminds me of Jasper."

"Oh yeah?" I smirked.

"_Shit_," he said under his breath. "Sorry, I forgot he's your friend."

"No," I said encouragingly, "I mean, how does _Jasper_ remind you of _Eric_?" They were just so different in my mind. Nothing at all alike.

"I don't know," Ben said, hesitant. "They're both crazy?" I huffed a laugh. "No seriously," he continued, "all Eric does is smoke and mumble to himself, and all Jasper does is mumble and go after that tampon person. . . with a zeal that would _probably_ be admirable if he wasn't so deranged over it."

Undeniably amused, I agreed with him. "Yeah, I mean, it _is_ creepy and disgusting, and a complete mystery. . . but he's definitely gone overboard. You should see the detail on the maps he perfected, or the way he coordinated our schedules so we could maximize our time to patrol and examine the bathrooms. . ." I drifted off, thinking that maybe I said too much as images of the papers I spoke about flooded my mind.

I chanced a look at Ben and saw his eyes were wide with disbelief. "He's that serious?"

"Yep," I nodded. "Kinda scary."

"Kinda?" he repeated, incredulous. "Jesus Christ, he's more fucking insane than Eric. I can't imagine Yorkie going that far."

His invoking of Christ's name reminded me of something Eric had said at a party. "Well, he has been crazy drunk enough to try and convince people that Jesus is a dictator."

"What?" he asked, but I could tell from his tone it was more of an exclamation than a question.

"I know," I agreed.

"But he was drunk," he stated, as if I needed to be reminded, "and I'm pretty sure Jasper's been sober when it comes to the tampon thing."

I just shrugged and kept my eyes on the road.

"Holy mother of God," Ben suddenly breathed. "Is that where you really were after school today? Patrolling bathrooms?"

"No," I laughed.

"No, tell me, did you find anything?"

"No. And that's the truth." He didn't need to know how Rogers was monitoring my every move.

"Fine," he said nonchalantly. "If that's your story and you're sticking to it. I wouldn't wanna admit to going along with it either."

I glanced over at him and he was grinning to himself and looking out the window at the trees flying past, having too much fun messing with me. I ignored it and moved the conversation in a different direction, and we spent the remaining ten minutes talking comfortably. I could see him finally dropping a wall, could see us finally just chilling like normal people at school. If Emmett heard how casual he could be, instead of jerky and awkward like in gym class, then they'd finally get along. Jasper, on the other hand, was the only one who I figured wouldn't like Ben that much even if they got to talking. The damage was done in that situation.

Before I knew it, we were at the mall. I pulled into a parking garage, and found a spot near a pedestrian ramp to Macy's.

"Okay," I began as I turned to Ben, unbuckling myself. "There's two tux places in the mall. We're just going to go in and out; get this over with. You're cool with that, right? You don't need anything else?"

His answer was immediate as he looked down and undid his own buckle. "Nope, sounds good. I hate malls."

I nodded, even though he wasn't looking. "Same."

* * * * * * *

It was like I was in a time warp. We were never going to find something, because Ben turned purple when he heard the price for the suit at the first place we went into, and therefore we were never going to leave this forsaken mall. I stared, hopelessly bored, at my feet as I sat listening to Ben get measured again for his suit.

"Hold your arm out just a little, sir. . .," the employee mumbled his instructions, and I briefly looked as Ben quickly obeyed, as if he was nervous. "Chin up. . . Just going to step behind you for a second, don't move. . . Okay, lift up both arms. . . One last measurement. . ."

"Um, what are you doing?"

I looked up when I heard Ben squeak out the question. The employee was down on one knee in front of him, glancing up at Ben briefly while his hands paused near the inside of his thigh, the measuring tape dangling lazily between his fingers.

"I'm measuring your inseam, son," the man replied patiently. "This your first time getting a suit?"

Ben was so pale, he looked ready to lurch forward and puke all over the poor guy.

"Uh, yes. First. . . time," Ben answered, gulping needlessly.

"Well, I'm just going to do your inseam and then I'll go in the back room and pick out a suit for you based on the numbers, and I'll be right back."

The employee's hand skimmed up the inside of his right thigh and held the tape right below his crotch for a moment, muttering the number he saw, before letting the tape go limp and standing back up. When he disappeared around the corner, I met Ben's eyes. He looked relieved, or embarrassed (I couldn't tell), and as soon as he looked at me, he flushed bright red and looked away.

His face was kind of like a Christmas tree in that moment, with the way he went from a sickly green to red like a shiny ornament. I tried not to laugh.

"You okay?" I asked, and all right, I might have been smirking.

"Yeah, fine," he said gruffly. "Just didn't know he was going to get that close to _there_."

"How else is he going to know what pants to get you then?"

Ben's face started to cool down, and he felt he could look me in the eye again. "I don't fricken know. The guy at the other place didn't get. . . all right up in there."

"Whatever," I said a little too casually, in an attempt to change his attitude. "Anyway, I think this is the place we'll get your suit from."

"Why?" he asked. "I haven't even tried one on yet."

"I know, but that other place sucked," I said, and stood up to stretch my legs. It didn't escape my notice how Ben dragged his eyes up and down my torso—it was like gym all over again and it made no sense why he did crap like that. "And besides, this is Mr. Tux, they have to be cheaper."

Ben's expression still showed an unwillingness to trust me as he stood stiffly on the little circular podium the man had made him stand on. "Okay. . . ?"

"In fact," I said, turning to look for the cash registers, "I'll go find someone to ask about it right now."

"Um, all right," I heard Ben say as I took off. I walked with purpose as I made my way towards the front where an older employee with thinning greased back hair stood, apparently looking over something on the counter in front of him. I decided he was the perfect person to disturb.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, and he looked up immediately. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something."

"Of course," he replied, taking a pair of glasses out so he could see me better, I guess.

I pointed to the dressing rooms. "My friend is back there trying on a suit to rent, and I didn't want to embarrass him, but I want to talk to someone about the price."

The man didn't say anything, just focused his little eyes on me, which were really too close together, and waited.

So I continued with determination. "See, he's a scholarship student at St. Bart's. Have you heard of it?"

"The boy's school?" he confirmed.

I nodded. "Yes. See, my friend's actually the winner of the Felton scholarship, which basically means the school's paying his full tuition. He's from Chelmsford, and he doesn't have a lot of cash on him to rent a suit for the night of our Homecoming dance, so I was wondering if you could tell me about a student discount?"

"It's just the one night?"

"Yes."

The man ducked his chin, but looked up at the ceiling over the rim of his glasses. He shifted his weight a few times before responding. "What's the rate for the suit they told you about—the one your friend is trying on?"

"Eighty-five dollars for the night."

"I can give him a twenty-five percent discount," he replied instantly. I quickly checked his dress shirt for a nametag so I could thank him properly and possibly kiss more ass, but I found none.

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

"So, let's see, he'll only pay around sixty—" he pulled out a calculator from somewhere below the counter in front of him and punched in numbers quickly, "Sixty-three seventy-five. Can your friend afford that?"

"Yes, thanks." I hesitated a moment before saying, "Can you not mention this, though? I didn't ask for a discount over at the other place here in the mall and I don't want him getting sore over it, but he needs a break."

The employee finally cracked a kind smile. "Sure. I'll be here waiting when he's ready to pay."

"Thanks," I said again, most likely for the seventh time, but I didn't care, and turned back to make sure Ben was ready to get out of the store.

* * * * * * *

We were finally breaking out of the mall after just two stores and nearly forty-five minutes. I was so excited it was like I hadn't seen the sunlight in ten days. Malls always made my skin crawl. Case in point: if we walked past another American Eagle—or whatever overpriced crap clothing store—with an overeager salesgirl greeter, who, in fact, was greeting me like I was walking into her store when I definitely wasn't, then I was going to go postal.

And judging by the speed with which Ben was heading toward the Macy's entrance, which held the exit door to our freedom, I was certain he felt the same way.

I had some karma or something coming toward me, though, because one of the big reasons why I hate malls was walking in our direction, and he looked like he wanted to stop and chat.

Running into people you know from school: Probably number two on the list of reasons for my loathing of malls. Watching Aaron Matthews and a few of his friends walk toward Ben and I was kind of painful, and was not helped by the fact that I hate him.

Apparently, this karma was pretty bad, because he saw us before I even saw him, and he was watching us with a sick little smile on his face that told me we weren't going to get away scot-free.

Ben saw him also, and we both subconsciously slowed down in anticipation.

Aaron slowed, but he didn't stop. He raised both his eyebrows and wet his lips as he passed us gradually, and began talking through his spiteful smile. "Hey ladies," he began, looking directly at Ben. "Finding dresses for Homecoming? Or something for underneath them for when you're alone afterwards?"

"Ha," I spat at Aaron as he continued to pass, laughing to his friend. "You're hilarious. A real comedian, congratulations."

Ben looked bitter, but stayed silent. I shook my head at his dumb attempt to jab at us and sped up again, ready to break free of the mall.

"I'm not gay, you know," Ben said, hurrying to keep up with my pace.

I looked down over at him curiously. "I, uh, didn't think you were."

"Yeah, still," he muttered, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he focused his gaze forward, his cheeks flushing again.

"Okay," I finished awkwardly. I watched him from the corner of my eye, took in his softer features, shorter stature, thought of his weaknesses in gym, at his unnecessary defense of his sexuality. . . and I wondered. . .

But no, he couldn't be. Not that that would be a bad thing, but then it would give a whole new meaning to the way he would stare at me, and _that_ made me uncomfortable.

The silence between us felt unnatural now. The uneasy mood followed us all through Macy's, back over the pedestrian ramp, through the parking garage, and it nearly suffocated me in the car. Ben looked like he wasn't breathing easy, either.

I pulled out of our spot carefully, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Very unexpectedly, I was assuming things I didn't want to be assuming about the person beside me, and the weight of it was palpable in the car. Too heavy.

I reached for the mixes again.

And I'll praise the music gods for the rest of my life when the introductory guitar to a Stones song fractured the tension, and Ben began an argument that would last us the rest of the car ride back.

"So," he posed, his voice lowering as he cleared his throat, "who would you rather be: the Beatles or the Rolling Stones?"

* * *

**Bella's POV**

Okay, so we didn't skip. We didn't hold hands. We weren't some disgusting modern day Hansel and Gretel with our money. Shopping was. . . fine. Nothing like the hours-long event my old friends and mom would put me through. 'Guy' shopping was short, nice. Like Edward said, it was in and out, and that was it.

There were some bumpy moments, but I made it out alive.

_I think_.

Edward dropped me off at the corner where I would wait for the bus home (there was no way he was pulling into the ghetto with his shiny new silver car), and I ignored him as he tried to defend preferring to be a Beatle over a Rolling Stone one last time.

The bus ride back was comfortable and quiet. The sun was going down, in reality it was almost gone beyond the horizon, and I amused myself by staring at a grungy looking women with too many large plastic bags, and an older equally grungy man that smelled like he crawled out of a garbage can. He got too close for comfort at one point.

But the important thing was that I had a suit that I would pick up next week before the dance and return the next day, and there was some sort of new costumer reward that meant I paid less than I thought I would have to. I got to keep my school uniform on when I was measured; it wasn't like the movies where you saw the man undressed and jumping back when he thought the guy was going for a crotch-grab.

Well, I thought the latter part almost happened to me, but I overreacted, thank God.

And, despite seeing Aaron and saying too much then, the day was all right. I deemed it a success. No old ladies, no phallic objects disguised as fruit, no porn shop employees to yell at me. My second excursion out into the world as a boy gave me confidence in what I was doing again. I wanted to share my good news with Dad when I got home, but the house was dark and his cruiser wasn't around. He was always so iffy about the whole experience, about my decision, that I was disappointed he wasn't there right away for me to hopefully give him confidence about it too.

So I did what was becoming a habit as of late. I trudged up to my sauna of a room with its peeling wallpaper and started in on homework that didn't really seem to be helping me learn anything at all.

* * *

**AN:** What was that hypnotism I was talking about before? Well, this is it:

_You are getting very sleepy......_

Read "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5, "The Man In the Mask" by MarchHare5.

_Snap!_ You are no longer hypnotized.


	11. People Watching

**AN:** You all really enjoyed that last author's note. That was my brain on four hours of sleep. But because of it, I have a new things to say in Portuguese, and a correction to an old one:

Eu não falo português. Obrigada. ;) Aaaand: Eu amo pessoas que falam português. =)

So there. I feel cooler now. And if you speak Spanish and find it easier to leave a review for me in Spanish go ahead and do that. One reviewer already is. I wish I knew other languages to communicate in. My Dutch is horrible (my foreign exchange student from the Netherlands and I use to laugh at how bad I was) and my French is non-existent.

**I don't usually like long author's notes but I have people to thank****! **Because of something stupid I was doing I lost the author's note where I thanked I'mwiththevampires08 for her rec of POAG in a chapter of Bitter Sweet Symphony. So thank you again =). I would also like to thank the person over at lion_lamb who rec'd POAG, and funkydiva1978 who rec'd this in a chapter of The Delicate Dance of Marriage. Gracias!

Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter than usual. Don't get mad at me for that. It's necessary. Next chapter is their Homecoming dance.

**

* * *

Chapter 10: People Watching**

I was free falling, frighteningly falling to the distant ground at a speed I couldn't calculate, knowing that only a sudden fatal impact would finally end the nauseating weightlessness of the fall.

Until my damn leg spasmed and I woke up.

I knew by the darkness of my room that I probably hadn't slept for very long, and with a soft groan I rolled over to search for my phone to give me the time. And then I groaned louder.

I had barely slept for a half hour.

As soon as my mind woke up as much as my body, I took notice of the nighttime sounds around me. They weren't very typical, or at least, not typical to me, but they were the norm for people who had lived here their whole lives. There was shouting coming from down the street, a car alarm going off somewhere, and the telltale creaking coming from the people who shared my bedroom wall. The light from the streetlamp that leaked through my poor excuse for a curtain kept invading my eyes, and I became painfully more alert, as if it were widening my pupils and tightly cranking gears in my head that I didn't want to be cranked. While my brain grew frustrated from the yellow light, the creaking from the other side of the wall became more insistent, rhythmic, and loud.

I gave up on sleep. Usually I was able to block out the sounds and find some quiet in my mind, but lately I had too many things going on in my head.

I flopped out of bed. Dragging my comforter from on top of my sheets and wrapping it around my shoulders, I went downstairs. Everything was partially illuminated by the light coming from outside, but for the most part, shadows dominated the house. A peek through the front window at the driveway told me that Dad still wasn't home. I hadn't seen him for more than two minutes the past couple of days. He still knew nothing about how my time at the mall went.

Thinking of the mall obviously led me to think of Edward. I think I laughed out loud to myself when I thought of how indignant he became when I disagreed with him and said I would rather be a Rolling Stone than a Beatle. And then I wanted to slap myself when I realized that my smile wasn't going away.

I groaned and hit my head on the wall by the stairs. I liked Edward too much. He was annoying as hell sometimes, but I couldn't deny that in a school full of people that ignored me, and who I tried to avoid in return, I liked that at least one person made some sort of effort. He could yell at me in gym until he turned blue and I don't think it would change my opinion of him. Even when things were awkward we could turn it around and get to talking about something. . . and that something, I was figuring out, could be anything. We could seriously talk about porn and I don't think it would be weird.

Again, I wondered if we could talk about my secret girl status. What would he think? That I'm crazy? Well, yes. That's a given. But would he help me out? How would he help me out? Just by letting me dump part of my burden on him? I didn't want to be any more selfish than I already was.

Originally, my plan was to make no friends. Edward was making that impossible, though. Did I deserve a friend right now?

The house was completely motionless; still, with the exception of car headlights racing along the ceiling toward the corner of the room. Noises, noises, noises kept pricking at my ears. Car noises, people noises, my own noises. I wanted the noises to match the static of our half of the house.

Walking over to the kitchen, I stood and stared out the front window again. People were everywhere. Not a lot of people, just more than you would expect at nearly midnight. It was one thing I had come to understand about living in a poor area surrounded by public housing: people didn't go inside. Their houses were small and dirty and dingy, and it was cleaner and less depressing to sit outside on their stoop to talk with other people who were doing the same.

It was all very neighborly of them. I decided to join the ranks.

I unlocked the deadbolt to my front door, and in my bare feet with the comforter hugged tight to my body, I walked across the small porch that connected the entry doors to our duplex and took a seat on the top step.

It was much colder outside than in my room. My butt was taking in the temperature from the hard wood underneath it. But I wasn't going to change my mind, I wasn't going to go back inside and sweat all night in my room.

The other people outside didn't really take notice of me. I liked to think they hated me and my father, and therefore did their best to pretend that we didn't exist. It didn't matter too much that we were white and most of them weren't, just because we were as poor as they. But, we _were_ a family consisting of a single father who was a policeman in a town filled with petty criminals, and a daughter who now walked around dressed as a boy. We were fucking weird, and strange. Not normal. I smiled to myself at the thought that, in a town of drug pushers, we were the people to be avoided: The cop and his cross-dressing daughter. Awesome. Score one for the Swan family.

I observed my neighbors peacefully as every once in awhile someone would laugh out at full volume, and I refused to let a chill take up place in my body. Eventually, I didn't know how much time had passed, but I saw my father's cruiser turn the corner down the road, and I was happy to have his headlights momentarily blind me as he pulled in the drive.

"Bella?" he said anxiously, getting out of his car quick. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I replied, confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you're outside wrapped in a blanket late at night. Why aren't you inside?"

I shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Room's too hot."

He locked his car and stood, eyes level with mine, at the bottom step. "It's not safe out here late at night. C'mon, let's go in."

"What are you talking about? We're safe."

Instead of protesting or ordering me inside like I thought he would, he sighed heavily and took a seat beside me on the top step. He shuffled his gun around on his belt and leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking at me.

I smiled weakly. "We're quite a pair, Dad."

He raised an eyebrow. "We are?"

"Oh yeah." I tilted my head over at the people who snapped their heads in the opposite direction as soon as they noticed us outside with them. "I have a feeling the drug dealers won't even let their children near us."

He laughed gently, rubbing the scruff on his face. And then he surprised me by leaning over and hugging me tightly. "How've you been holding up, Bella?"

"Alright." I gripped his back before he let me go. "I found a suit on Friday for the dance this weekend."

"That's good," he said.

We both became quiet then, staring ahead of us. My eyes were so well adjusted to the night and glow of the streetlamps that I didn't notice shadows anymore. I watched the moon feeling some sort of yearning I couldn't justify.

"Bella?" Dad said after a moment. "How are you doing, really?"

I looked deep into his eyes and exhaled slowly as I felt a weight press down heavier on my chest. I wanted to be honest and wanted to spare him the details at the same time. "I don't know."

He stared back at me patiently. He never said anything to push, and he didn't need to. It was how we worked after Mom died. And so, as he stared at me with an entire mountain of concern behind his eyes, I opened up.

"I freak out almost every day, like there's this constant. . . undercurrent of anxiety I can't ignore. I don't know if I'm doing things right. I make sure I'm alone for most of the day and in between classes. I don't want anyone getting to close to me and figuring it out, but lately—" I thought of Edward, Jasper, Emmett, Aaron, and this was where I began gasping in order to keep back a sneak attack of tears, "—there's this, um, boy—guy, uh, kid in my gym class, and he _sometimes_ goes out of his way to be nice to me. He's the one who took me to the mall," I explained, sniffling. "And I've messed up _so much_ in front of him. . . _and_ his friends. . . already. I. . . I. . ."

I didn't know how to finish, but it didn't matter, because Dad swooped in again with another hug. He managed to shift me so that my legs swung over his lap and he pulled me closer, rubbing my back as I turned into a bit of a blubbering mess on the front steps. I vaguely wondered if we stood out or blended in with the activity on the street.

"Do you want someone else to talk to about it?" he asked softly into my hair.

I nodded. "Yeah, b-but I have no idea how this kid will react. I want to be his friend and I don't want to be his friend."

I was so tired. And confused. I began to feel my eyes blink rapidly as more tears silently pushed themselves out of the corner of my eyes.

"What you're doing is very difficult, Bella," my dad began in a gentle but firm tone. "I'm not going to lie and tell you I've become okay with the entire idea, but I know you're doing it for the right reasons _for yourself_. That's why I support it. And if you get to know this boy better and it seems like the right thing to do, then I hope you tell him."

I nodded again, feeling like a five year old but enjoying every minute of comfort.

"I'm sorry I haven't been home that much lately," he whispered.

'It's okay," I mumbled into his chest.

"Hey, you know what Saturday is, don't you?" he asked more excitedly.

"No?"

"It's your eighteenth birthday." I glanced up and couldn't decide if Dad looked more sad or happy.

"Oh," was all I could come up with as a response. Saturday was indeed the thirteenth of September. I had completely forgotten.

"How about we go inside now and go to bed?" Dad asked when he saw me slipping out of it.

I stood up by way of agreeing to his suggestion. He smiled tiredly at me, and I think I managed to smile back. By standing I was suddenly more occupied with the realization that I wasn't feeling cranked into being awake, but that I was instead exhausted to the point my walk became a shuffle, my eyes only able to stay half open. Needless to say, I had no problem letting my dad lead me back up to my bed.

**

* * *

Edward's POV**

"I just don't understand. Why would they do it? Why would they wanna fuck with us? I swear to God, the fact that no one cares makes it scarier." Jasper gripped his juice bottle tighter, glaring at something only he could see.

We were recycling through our tampon conversation in a quiet corner of the courtyard. I'd been repeating the same answers to his rhetorical questions, otherwise he would flip out unnecessarily, claiming that he was an island or something like that. Lately, he had even more of a one track mind than usual. The tampon was all he thought about. I had lost count of all of the variations of this conversation we'd had.

"There were only three people to actually know about it and see it," I reminded him. "Everybody else you told about it that day now thinks you made it up."

"Still," Jasper insisted, never one to be undeterred, "of those three people, there's only one that cares, that really understands the importance of what it could mean, and that's _me_. Why don't you _get it_, Edward? Why don't you care?"

"I get it." I sighed. "I do care. I've just got other things on my mind. And I'm not willing to believe the school's behind it. It doesn't make sense."

"Whatever," he said, and I could hear the bruise in his ego. "I'm about to fucking believe everything else people have been trying to warn us about—Area 51, aliens, the government being behind 9/11. Did we even really land on the moon?"

"Jazz," I interrupted his rant. "Seriously, shut up."

"No, seriously Edward," he mocked, "how can we be sure? I'm willing to believe anything right now." He rocked back on his heels. "My mind is _open_ to the possibilities."

I raked a hand through my hair and tried to keep my rational thought intact. "Why would they lie to us about the moon?"

"Why was there a tampon in the toilet at an all boy's school?" he shot back, squinting his eyes at me. "You don't know the answer, but you know that it isn't right."

"I'm pretty there's scientific evidence behind our landing on the moon, though. And besides, landing on the moon isn't _wrong_. Not in the way the tampon was."

Jasper stewed for a moment and opened his mouth to reply, when something caught his eye over my shoulder, and he nodded in silent greeting.

Emmett was the person who came over and shadowed my left shoulder, and I nodded also in acknowledgement. "Hey Ed, hey Jazz," he said. "What are we talking about?"

"Conspiracy theories," I drawled. I placed my own water bottle to my mouth just to occupy it, before taking a long drink so hopefully Jasper wouldn't try and suck me into the conversation again.

"Oh yeah!" Emmett's face lit and he snapped his fingers. "Like, uh, the Romanovs? I'm totally convinced Princess Anastasia survived."

I spit out my drink back into the bottle. "What?"

He couldn't be serious. . . but one look at his face told me he was. Why in the world Princess Anastasia was the first thing to come to his mind I would never understand.

"Ah!" Jasper exclaimed. "I forgot about that one! That's also probably another big lie they fed us." He began nodding as if in on the scheme. "She totally survived. I'm with you on that."

They bantered back and forth about different conspiracy theories, even ones that had been solved and proven just that: conspiracies. I drowned out their voices and people watched everyone else who was standing in the courtyard during their break between classes. It being only a couple of weeks into the school year, no one felt any pressure to hole themselves in the library at every free moment to get work done. And the weather was still pleasant, so it made socializing outdoors even more appealing. I felt like I was the only one who wasn't really enjoying himself.

Mike Newton was clapping Paul Bates on the back as they laughed. Tyler Crowley looked like he was letting Jared Neilson copy some notes.

I watched Eric Yorkie drift off around the corner of the building on his way to his usual smoking spot and looked for Ben to be right behind him, as I had noticed that was usually the case with those two. But as I scanned and rescanned the small sea of people in identical uniforms, I realized I couldn't see anyone moving over to follow Eric. I felt myself sighing in some sort of relief at the thought that Ben was going to stop hanging out with the weird ones.

And then Emmett nudged my shoulder and nudged me out of my thoughts. "What's up with you, buddy?"

"Nothing," I sighed.

"Come on," Jasper said firmly. "You've been acting strange."

"No I haven't."

"Uh yes, yes you have," Emmett disagreed.

They kept talking about me acting like a bitch or something or other, probably in an attempt to get me angry so I'd talk to them again, but I ignored them. Ben had come out of the main entrance, brushing at something invisible to me on his shirt. He adjusted his backpack straps, and then began tugging at the ends of his hair, extending them as far away as possible from his head. He was looking very rumpled, lines creased all over his clothing and his face as he peered down at his hands and began cleaning one of his nails with one of his fingers. He walked forward without looking up to see if anyone was in his way, and then he suddenly stopped. With his hands curled near his chest, he grimaced at his shoes. He bent one leg up and his toe pointed at the ground, dangling as if it had offended him somehow. I tried to get a good look at the area near his feet and only saw a meal someone had brought outside and smashed into the ground.

It wasn't uncommon here for people to do things like that, but Ben shuddered, and then quickly and delicately stepped over it before walking away and plopping himself down at an empty bench.

My mind went reeling over the action. It was so. . . so overdramatic? And again I thought that maybe, just maybe, my recent suspicions were true. I wanted to talk to someone about it, and not Jasper or Emmett, but Ben himself. The only problem was: what right did I have to ask him about something as personal as his sexuality?

"—probably pining away over someone. Is Bree being a prude? Or is it you?" Emmett asked. It dawned on me that he was directing the question towards myself, but I hadn't listened to a word of their conversation. Before I could ask him to repeat himself, he was waving his massive hands in my face. "See?" he pointed out to Jasper. "Not even listening. I can't talk to him when he gets like this."

"Yeah, I know," Jasper said sympathetically. "Just ignore him and he'll eventually come around."

Looking over at my two friends and, finally _seeing_ them, I found that they were both watching me with probing stares. Emmett had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his khakis, his mouth set in a serious line that looked out of order on his usual joking face. Jasper had a hand unnaturally welded to his bottle, the other also hidden in a pocket. The inquisitive look he had in his eyes was unsettling. I had seen it many times before, but this was the first time it was directed at me. I suddenly got this queasy feeling, as if I was an ant on his back, squirming under a magnifying glass.

"What?" I asked defensively.

"Nothing," they both mumbled casually, shrugging off their stares as they looked anywhere but at me.

I glared back at them doubtfully and wished I had paid attention to what they had said before. Grasping for anything to shift their focus, I made a remark about Homecoming this Friday, effectively getting them to start talking about the dance.

I settled the weight of my attention back on Ben sitting alone at the bench. Something. . . something had to be done. There had to be something I could do to figure it out for myself without coming across as an ass. It was driving me crazy for some reason. Maybe because there were dualities I had witnessed coming from Ben. I didn't like dualities. He had to make it clear to me, directly or indirectly. He had to be one thing or the other. I needed time with him. I needed. . . _more_.

And then my opening hit me like a freight train.

I turned to Emmett. "You wanted to pick up some stuff before the dance Friday, right?"

He stopped mid-sentence and looked at me curiously. Probably surprised I just interrupted him and Jasper after ignoring them. "Yeah. . . why?"

"Isn't there a place in Chelmsford that's a joke when it comes to fake IDs?"

"Yeah. . ."

"What are you suggesting, Edward?" Jasper asked, pretending to be insulted. "That Emmett would stoop to going to the ghetto to find his alcohol?"

I smirked and ignored him, continuing my line of questioning at Emmett. "So is that where you were planning on going?"

Emmett looked indifferent, but confused at the same time. "Yeah, I mean, I could go there. Did _you _want to?"

"Sure." I smiled, glad things were going according to plan. "But hey, I've got to go ask someone something, and then I'll be back."

Emmett shrugged while he and Jasper watched me walk off. They most likely we're convinced that something was definitely wrong with me now. But I just didn't care, because I knew there wasn't anything.

I came up behind Ben and walked around to sit across from him. He wasn't rattled that I just came out of nowhere. _I must do this a lot._

"Hey," he said, nodding to me while he finished messing with his fingernails.

"Hey," I replied. Now that I was here I wasn't sure how to start. The idea that hit me like a train didn't come with an introduction. So I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"You know why it's better to be a Beatle?"

"This again?" Ben asked. He looked amused that I wouldn't let our argument from the car ride home from the mall go.

"The Beatles have a wider range of musical style," I continued as if he hadn't spoken. "They didn't limit themselves. You wouldn't get bored being a Beatle."

"Sure, if you say so."

"What? What's up with that?" I questioned that he was so willing to give in. "No verbal harassment about how stupid I am to want to be a Beatle over a Rolling Stone?"

"Nope," he responded with a smirk. "I'm too tired to care. So surprise, you win. Was there something else you wanted?"

I floundered for a second before I remembered my plan and why I had come over here. "Uh, yes, actually. There is something else."

For some reason I didn't say anything more. I just watched Ben and the bags beneath his eyes as if he was supposed to the one who needed something.

"Well?" Ben asked after a minute. "Did you want something or what?"

"Oh. Yeah. How are you getting to the dance Friday?"

"Uh, bus. Why?" He suddenly sat up straighter, narrowing his eyes at me as if he didn't trust me.

"Emmett knows of a place that accepts his fake ID in Chelmsford. He was going to head over there before the dance to get some stuff for after. If you needed a ride we could swing by and give you one."

Ben hunched a little and began chewing on his bottom lip. He didn't let up on the frown he was directing at me. I sat still, arms crossed on the table between us, maintaining my casual attitude.

It took a couple of seconds longer than I thought it would for him to speak. After our time at the mall I thought it was more obvious that we got along—I didn't understand his hesitation to speak.

"Are you sure?" he asked finally, timidly.

"About giving you a ride?" He nodded. I scoffed a little. "Yeah, I'm sure. Do you want one? Do you need a ride back too?"

"Uh, sure. Yeah, thanks," he said, stumbling over his words a little. "Ride would be good."

"No problem," I said graciously, becoming more self-persuaded that the extra time might be that _more_ that I need.

And, as we sat in an amicable silence, I let myself stare at his face while he stared over my shoulder at nothing. Ben looked not only rumpled up close, but like he was strung out. There was a glazed over quality to his eyes that I wasn't used to seeing, and I wondered if he was smoking again with Eric.

I couldn't get over how soft his damn skin seemed. The more I looked at Ben's face the more I saw how gentle he was. He was so boyish. He didn't look like a seventeen or eighteen year old high school senior. Were there girls that went for that? Was it possible that Ben was one of those nice guy secret ladies' men?

Another thought entered my mind. It flickered through in the span of two seconds, but the impression it left behind stayed with me, and fueled my next question.

"Do you have a girlfriend or date you were going to bring that we need to pick up also?"

The glazed over expression quickly left when Ben's eyes flashed to life, and his face snapped back to stare at mine.

"What?" he wheezed, appearing to fight for air while trying not to laugh.

"What?" I repeated, feeling protective of my assumption.

"You think I have a girlfriend? A date?"

I waved my hand dismissively. "Yeah. You could. I have no idea."

Ben smiled, and it reached his eyes. "Well I don't." He began chuckling shallowly. "No girlfriend for me."

I smiled with him, although I didn't understand what was so funny.

Because, as the school bell started to ring in the background and Ben and I, along with everyone else, stood to head off towards class, it suddenly became terrifying clear to me that if that the thought of having a girlfriend was so humorous to Ben then I could be one hundred percent correct.

All of his creepy-ass stares could have a different meaning.

All of these small-ass clues could have a much bigger significance.

And for the first time, I didn't want to be right about something.


	12. Homecoming Part 1: Oh boy, Bella

**Last time, on POAG: **

**Edward**

"You think I have a girlfriend? A date?"

I waved my hand dismissively. "Yeah. You could. I have no idea."

Ben smiled, and it reached his eyes. "Well, I don't." He began chuckling shallowly. "No girlfriend for me."

I smiled with him, although I didn't understand what was so funny.

Because, as the school bell started to ring in the background and Ben and I, along with everyone else, stood to head off towards class, it suddenly became terrifying clear to me that if that the thought of having a girlfriend was so humorous to Ben then I could be one hundred percent correct.

All of his creepy-ass stares could have a different meaning.

All of these small-ass clues could have a much bigger significance.

And for the first time, I didn't want to be right about something.

**

* * *

Chapter 11: Homecoming Part 1: Oh boy, Bella**

**Edward's POV**

"Where the fuck are we?" Emmett asked.

"I don't know," I answered, swiveling my head around to look out the back window.

"What the fuck is this place?"

"The ghetto."

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and reminded myself to breathe. My car was this bright shiny beacon, reflecting the evening sun back into everyone's eyes just to show them it was cleaner and better than anything on these streets. And my windows felt like they were doing too good of a job of being glass. It was like an astronaut from space could see into my car and know that Emmett and I were the only fair skinned people for miles. It didn't help that we were wearing ridiculously fancy suits, and that Emmett had decided to hold the GPS in his lap so that there wouldn't be one extra reason for someone to carjack us. Because really, just being who we are in this part of town was like asking to be robbed.

"What's the name of Ben's street?" I asked.

"Beaufort."

"What?" I asked, again, because I was too nervous and busy looking at the people milling around on the sidewalk to actually listen to the answer.

"Beau-fort," Emmett enunciated.

"Hmm?" I mumbled.

Emmett muttered under his breath, and then proceeded to spell it out for me like I was in kindergarten. "B-E-A-D-I-C-K."

"Okay," I huffed. "What does that spell?"

I was still distracted, holding onto the steering wheel as if it were a life raft while my passenger ignored me. I chanted the letters Emmett said from memory until the meaning finally struck.

"Hey!" I said, a little too loudly. "Screw you. Just tell me."

"If you had actually been listening, you'd know it by now," he retorted.

"Whatever, I'm keeping us from getting jumped. I'm a little busy."

"Oh yeah, Ed," Emmett said sarcastically. "Driving into the ghetto in your BMW is totally gonna keep us safe."

"Shut up," I murmured. _Be. . . Beau. . . Beau what was it again?_

"Why are we picking Ben up?" he asked, whining a little.

I didn't respond to the question, because I had quickly forgotten the reason myself as soon as we had crossed the town line.

"Wanna know what I feel like right now?" Emmett continued, not caring in the least that I didn't answer him. "I feel like that cow from Jurassic Park, you know? The one they lift in a tarp thing and drop into the middle of the velociraptor pit. We're like the bottom of the food chain just by being the only ones from the top of it right now. This sucks."

"Yeah," I agreed vaguely. "It does."

"There! Stop!" Emmett shouted suddenly. "On your left! Beaufort."

I jerked on the brakes and swerved the car to the left, barely managing to hit my directional on. They weren't even any other cars on the road to worry about with my nervous, crappy driving. It was just us—the only people driving around in the shiniest piece of metal ever, and I really wished it was a beat up Civic at that moment.

"What was the number to the house?" I asked as I took a deep breath, slowed down, and corrected all the overturning I did to pull onto the street.

When Emmett didn't answer, I glanced over at him quickly. His right arm had reached out, and his fist was white-knuckled over the support handle above the window.

"Number?" he mumbled. Then he shook his head to clear it and stared down at the GPS in his lap. "Uh, three twenty-five? Yeah, three twenty-five."

He relaxed and let go of the handle while I drove even slower, scanning the houses for their numbers. It wasn't easy. Some of the houses had numbers missing from their door posts, or they were rusted over and difficult to decipher. Some had their address on their mailbox, and I would panic that I was actually passing Ben's house until I noticed where the numbers actually were. The worst part was the people. It was like half of the neighbor was hanging out outside, watching us screw up and freak out as we crawled past them. There was just too much anxiety wrapped up in the whole ordeal, and I could safely speak for Emmett also when I thought about how I wanted it all over with. Now.

When I finally spotted three twenty-five Beaufort, time seemed to slow a little. But even if that was impossible, then the car definitely slowed, and my hands turning the wheel into the driveway were molasses-like. Turtle speed.

"What the hell?" Emmett asked once we were pulled in, facing the house.

I gaped a little. "Which one?" I turned to him. He concentrated on the GPS in his lap like it was an animate object and could give him answers.

"You didn't mention that there were two possible addresses for Ben's house," Emmett replied.

Apparently, Ben could either live in three twenty-five A or B. In other words, the mottled gray house was a duplex. It seemed like an important detail for someone to leave out, and I had to wonder why he did.

Did he expect to meet us outside before we could figure out his family didn't have a house all to himself?

"Why is there a cop car in his driveway?" Emmett asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know, maybe their neighbor is a cop. I don't think anything's going down right now, you know? So it must live here."

We shared a knowing look, thinking of the booze we had stashed in the trunk that been purchased five minutes beforehand with Emmett's fake ID.

"Well, what do we do?"

"I don't know. Go knock on one of the doors?"

"Doesn't he have a cell we can call? Do you have his number?"

"Crap," I muttered under my breath. "Yeah, he does, but I don't have his number."

"Great," Emmett retorted. "You really planned this one out well, didn't you?"

"Hey," I warned. "This isn't a natural disaster. Okay? It's not a big deal. I'll stay here, and you can go knock."

"I have to go knock?" he asked incredulously, pointing to his chest. "I'm not his friend, that's you."

"I'm the driver," I argued. "I should stay behind the wheel. You're the passenger, you can get in and out easier."

"That's some bullshit, Edward. Bullshit." He shook his head at me.

"Damnit," I muttered to myself, getting angry at the situation. "We need to stop being pansies. Right? Christ, we're eighteen years old."

"I'm still seventeen."

"Whatever. We're not twelve. We can do this without someone holding our hands. We're not going to get shot getting out of the car. It's going to take two minutes to get him to come out here, we should just get it over with."

We sat there staring at one another, the car still idling beneath us, challenging each other with our eyes.

Emmett raised a brow. "Okay, Mr. Motivational Speaker, why haven't you gotten out of the car yet to go knock?"

"Because I thought you were going to get out of the car first," I said, very much sounding like I was twelve suddenly.

"We're chicken shits. This needs to stop."

"Yes, yes it does," I agreed.

"Okay, then. On the count of three, we go. Together."

I nodded, gripping my keys as I readied to turn off the car. "One, two, thr—"

As I started to say three, the right door to the duplex, otherwise known as door B, swung open and Ben came scrambling out.

With a cop behind him.

Both Emmett's and my head shot down. "Fucking a. Damnit to hell. Jesus Christ," Emmett was muttering. "Is his dad a cop?"

"I have no freaking clue!" I said anxiously. "I guess so. He doesn't look like he's been arrested, dumbass."

"Shut the fuck up, okay? What are we going to do? We've got the beer in the back."

"He won't know," I said hurriedly.

"Yes he fucking will," Emmett hissed. "Cops can smell that kind of thing."

"No they can't," I objected, even though I felt fear creeping up on my neck.

"Shit," Emmett whispered, and then his head shot back up. I followed suit immediately, seeing that Ben and his policeman father were close to the car now.

I gulped. _We're screwed._

* * *

**Bella's POV**

"You're not doing it right."

I sighed, because of course I wasn't doing it right. I had no fucking clue what I was doing.

"Well, want to show me then?"

Dad walked forward from his lurking in my door and stood in front of me, expertly fitting the tie around my next. It took him two seconds to do what I had struggled with for fifteen minutes. The man had nimble fingers.

"Thanks," I said quietly.

He smiled and then turned beside me. We both stared at my reflection in the mirror, assessing what I looked like in a suit.

I looked more like a boy. My face seemed sharper, my eyes more serious. I had no idea what it was about the suit that just made me seem like I was standing taller, appearing to be older than I am. I stared and stared at myself, trying to pinpoint what the fuck it was about the suit that was so magical. After standing in silence for minutes upon end, I decided it was the lines of the suit. They accentuated aspects of my shoulders and my frame that I hadn't noticed before. I was more square now. I was also slightly proud of the way my attempt at a comb-over made me look sharp.

"You're looking. . .," Dad trailed off. His eyes were deep with concentration.

"Dapper?" I suggested.

"No."

"Dashing."

He snorted.

"Debonair."

"Enough with the adjectives starting with D," Dad said. "You're looking good. I'm surprised. . . . You ready for tonight?"

I pinched my lips together, not once looking away from my reflection. "You know what they say—as ready as I'll ever be."

He patted me on the back. "Good, 'cause there's a fancy looking car out in the driveway. There's a big one and a skinnier one. They look scared. Those your friends?"

I whipped my head away from the mirror in surprise and walked to the window. "Yeah, damn," I mumbled. I was able to see the car idling behind Dad's cruiser, but couldn't differentiate between who was Emmett or Edward. They weren't early or anything, but I still couldn't help but remark, "That's them. I can't believe they're here already."

"Well, you better go down. Don't want to be late or anything," he said, somewhat shakily.

I turned and smiled nervously at him. He looked worried.

"Yeah," I agreed softly.

"And these boys are the ones that brought you to the mall?" he double-checked.

I rolled my eyes. We had had the whole _'Who are your friends? Are they nice? Can I trust them?'_ conversation several times already. "Just Edward did. Emmett, the other one, is all right though. You can still go out and say hi to them quickly," I offered.

_Even though it would be completely mortifying. _

Dad seemed to reconsider his previous decision to just let me run out the door without introducing himself to my 'friends,' his brows still furrowed intensely. "Okay," he agreed, giving me a tight smile, "I think I will."

But the look on my face must not have given him much confidence that it was a good idea. "Unless you don't want me to," he amended.

Feeling slightly horrible that I was taking away his opportunity to parent, I hurried to assure him that it was fine. I nudged him, using my words and my elbows, along with a smile, to get him out the door towards the car where Edward and Emmett were waiting.

Dad was more confident that I was okay with him meeting people from my school with every step he took, treating it more like he was being introduced to good friends of mine than being worried that he was going to blow my cover, or something.

And then there was the level of mortification I was feeling. Because this was as close to a date as I ever was going to get in my mind. My dad, helping me get dressed and thinking I look good and all that cheesy shit, walking me out to the car where boys were waiting to sweep me off to a dance. I shuddered, thinking of how horribly twisted it all was. Maybe someday I would laugh at this. Maybe.

I led the way down the porch steps, past the cruiser, to Edward's car.

"Nice ride," I heard Dad whistle softly behind me. I nodded, even though I had no idea what kind of car he was driving. But if it was nice. . . okay. Whatever. I just appreciated it because it was a car. It was clean, it was private, its engine was quiet. In other words, it was not the bus.

When Edward and Emmett noticed that there were people walking towards them, they're heads snapped up. I thought that Dad was just being. . . Dad earlier, but he was right. They looked scared. Through the window I could see Emmett guarding a GPS in his lap, his leg bouncing rapidly. Edward was fidgeting with his gear shift, finally throwing it to park before he rolled down the window on Emmett's side.

"Hi," I said to them awkwardly. "Uh, this is my dad, he just wanted to, uh—"

"Hello," Dad butted in, sticking his head into the car window a bit to get a better look at them. "How're you boys doing tonight?"

Emmett, for some reason, hid the GPS further with his hands, and nodded, not saying anything more. Edward, however, was more vocal. "We're fine, thank you, sir," he said stiffly.

Dad patted the top of the car as he moved back a little. "Well, have fun tonight and drive safe." He moved completely away and turned towards me. "I'll wait up for you when you get in. Have a good time, _Ben_," he said, exaggerating my male name a little too much, in my opinion. He was smiling cheekily at me as I climbed into the backseat, buckling up like he taught me to always do. I rolled my eyes as Edward backed up and pulled away from the house, and watched him as he shrunk into the distance, a tiny swath of blue uniform and dark hair against the crumbling backdrop of our duplex.

We turned the corner at the end of the road. In seconds, the solitary figure of my father standing there watching me was gone. At the last moment, I thought I saw him turn back toward the house, but I couldn't be sure. That was when the sense of loneliness gripped me, like I had finally made some choice to stick to being the new scholarship student at St. Bart's over being Charlie Swan's last immediate family member. A desperate feeling increased my heart rate, making me feel like I had just seen my dad and my house for the last time. I thought of all the impressions I would have to make upon adults at the dance and felt the collar tighten around my neck. I thought of what would happen if I asked Edward to turn around so I could run back up to my overheated room, rip all of my now uncomfortable clothes off and go back to being a girl, and decided that I maybe didn't care if I looked like an antisocial coward for backing out.

It was like the seatbelt was constricting about my chest and lap much like a snake would. The air in the car was all plastic and leather and just too new, like I couldn't relax or move around for fear of, I don't know, leaving my ass print in the leather. Neither Edward or Emmett noticed the panic attack I was trying to contain in the backseat as they made conversation because they looked like they were just as tense, although I couldn't imagine why. _I_ was trapped in the clothes, trapped in the car; the metal vehicle picking up speed as it hurtled down the highway toward the dance. But most importantly, I was suddenly trapped into being Ben Cheney for the night, out in public, in a setting in which I had never had to be him before.

I swallowed involuntarily at the thought, but found that I couldn't.

_Oh boy, Bella._

* * *

-

**AN: **This was very short. This is because I didn't want to keep you waiting forever, so I went against my original idea and broke up the chapter. The rest is very long. It's also coming soon. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me.


	13. Homecoming Part 2: Girls

**AN: **The review button is different. Did anyone else notice this? I don't know if I like it. I'm not partial to change. Every time Facebook switches something up I get really frustrated. Has anyone clicked on this new review button? I know I haven't used it yet. Does it still work the same way? Hmm, maybe you should all click on it to make sure it still works. If you happen to leave me a review at the same time, then so be it. I'll take one for the team for the sake of review button research.

Kidding. Just kidding. Don't leave me a review if you don't want to. I doled out a lot of pinky promises that the next part was coming really soon, so I hope you consider this post as fulfilling of that promise.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Homecoming Part 2: Girls**

As we drove further they visibly relaxed. I noticed the GPS came out of Emmett's hand and went back into its little holder on the dashboard. The color returned to Edward's knuckles as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel. I noticed that their eyes had stopped darting about as they looked out the window. And when it occurred to me what was going on with them, I wanted to say something like, _'Seriously, did you think you were going to get knifed?'_

Surprisingly, I was insulted. Chelmsford wasn't that horrible. I mean, it was bad, but it wasn't inner-city bad. Inwardly, I fumed at their goddamn pansy-ass behavior, while outwardly, I could only frown and slump against my seat.

I knew I should have declined the ride. I knew it. Now that they had seen where I live, Edward especially, there were going to judge me. They were going to treat me differently. If I wasn't already looked down upon, I was going to be now. I wasn't as good as them before, but now it was obvious. Tangible.

_Fuck_.

Fuck it all. I mean, what was I thinking? I had even been deliberating telling Edward my secret. Who was I kidding? He's got this nice ride, apparently, so he comes from something better, more secure and happy and stable than me. By his reaction, he's never going into the ghetto again. His short trip to pick me up quickly and clearly developed an aversion to it. It wouldn't be too difficult to develop an aversion to me. And then to top it all off—_Oh hey, Edward. I'm actually a chick. Be my friend?_

Yeah fucking right.

I am an idiot.

Edward cleared his throat awkwardly and looked at me in the review mirror. "So, what's up?" he asked.

"Oh nothing," I grumbled, the pleasant note I tried to intone clearly forced.

Emmett spoke up then, yammering on about Man Land and Homecoming, and I let my mind wander. Forcing aside my nerves about being Ben all night, I thought about how I would interact with the opposite sex, which in reality was my sex, but for now it wasn't. It couldn't allow myself to think they were, or else I could make a huge mistake.

Confused doesn't begin to describe how I felt some days.

However, I decided that although I am not a 'girl,' I am very familiar with them. And there was nothing wrong with that. There are tons of guys who are familiar with girls. I might have started out amongst the guys at St. Bart's as coming across as sweaty-palmed lunatic in front of girls, but my former experience on the other side of the tracks meant that it was impossible for me to clam up around them.

I was a natural.

I would be able to walk up to them and talk to them with no hesitation, because, and this is something most guys like me would covet, I _understood_ them.

_That's right, _I told myself. I knew how their minds worked. I knew why some of them loved having eighty thousand pairs of shoes and how others were able to smell a candle over and over again in a store before they bought it. Oh, and the age old going in groups to the bathroom mystery? Not a mystery, folks, not a mystery.

I had this in the bag.

"What's so funny?" I heard Emmett ask, and discovered that he was talking to me. I found that my head had drifted to look out the window and a subtle smile had formed on my mouth.

"Nothing." I shook my head for emphasis and forced my lips into straight line. It was kind of difficult.

He gave me a funny look before dismissing whatever I was thinking of and turned back to Edward, continuing the conversation I had spaced out on. "So, what's going on with Bree? I keep forgetting to ask."

"Nothing," Edward shrugged, speeding up a little as we passed the sign announcing the highway entrance.

"Nothing?" Emmett asked, disbelievingly. "You're not tapping that by now?"

"No," Edward said tightly.

"Why not? She's all right."

"The. . . opportunity hasn't presented itself," Edward said carefully, and he must have pressed down on the gas a bit harder, because I could feel our speed picking up a bit.

"Does she think you're together, or something?"

"Maybe," Edward sighed. "She probably does. But I don't think we are. I don't think I want anything from her anymore."

"Not even ass?"

Emmett turned around quickly and wiggled his eyebrows at me like I understood. And of course, I nodded all casually like an idiot, because that's what guys like me do.

"Maybe ass," Edward said nearly inaudibly. The car swayed a little as we drove around the curve of the onramp onto the highway. He didn't slow down.

"Huh?" Emmett's face scrunched up. "Who cares if she wants something and you don't, man. Just tap it and get it over with. She a virgin?"

Edward's shoulders stiffened. "Yeah, think so," he replied uncertainly.

"Great," Emmett said, very enthusiastically. Almost encouragingly. "Then she won't have any idea that you don't really know what you're doing. I mean. . .," Emmet broke off, and nervously looked back at me. Edward glared sharply at Emmett, merging carelessly with the other cars on the road. We were officially on the highway, heading towards Homecoming, or Mount Doom, I wasn't sure. We were going too fast for my tastes. Emmett had apparently said something wrong, and now Edward was pissed.

I didn't get what had happened until I did. Until it just suddenly clicked for me.

"Wait," I interjected, actually joining their conversation for the first time. "What did you just say?" I directed my question at Emmett.

He looked uncertainly at Edward. "Uh, nothing, man. I don't even know."

Teeth were mashed, jaws tightening. Obviously, us boys are temperamental girls. A nerve had been struck, and rather than irritate it more, I changed the subject.

"So, does someone want to tell me about this dance?"

Emmett looked relieved. "What more do you need to know?" he asked, as if I had asked the stupidest question.

"There's going to be girls there?"

They both nodded. Emmett snorted. "Fuck yeah, else you wouldn't be able to drag me to this thing."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Well where would these girls be coming from?"

They had to be imported from somewhere.

"They go to Mary Anna's," Edward said, not sounding pissed off or as tense as he seemed now. "It's about a half hour from us."

"Are you guys friends with any of them?"

"Yeah, a few," Edward replied.

"Of course," Emmett scoffed at him. He looked back at me and did the whole wiggling eyebrows thing again. "You know what they say about Catholic school girls. . ."

I laughed at the stereotype. "Yeah, I think I've heard something about 'em before."

Emmett looked surprised. "Oh you have, have you?"

I think he wanted me to say something about what I'd heard, but Edward stepped in. "Yeah, yeah, they're all sluts with daddy issues." He shook his head and smirked. "But some of these girls are actually smart."

From then on we didn't talk about specific girls anymore. We acted like little adults and talked about the quality of the school the girls went to versus St. Bart's.

I contributed my opinions, participated more than I thought I would. I didn't feel like some third wheel friend, and I discovered just how hilarious and witty Edward and Emmett together could be. They had an easy camaraderie. It was almost like Paul Rudd and Alicia Silverstone making conversation, except I got to be some random unknown actor sitting in the back, kind of getting his break just by sitting in the car with Edward and Emmett, being generally bewildered at how well I _could _fit in. Maybe I was Brittney Murphy in this situation. Most importantly, though, I was grateful for fitting in. Otherwise, it might have ended up being one epic car ride from hell.

The drive felt a lot shorter than it probably was in reality. We pulled off the highway and arrived at the rather swanky hotel, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, where Homecoming was being held.

I didn't really want to get out of the car. If the night could have only been just the three of us talking in Edward's car, I would have been perfectly happy. But then I would have rented my suit for nothing, so I opened my door after Edward and Emmett had already slipped out, and took one very deep, steadying breath.

_You can handle this. You can handle the girls. Hell, you can even handle the adults. And you will erase all other expectations. _

Besides, with expectations comes disappointment.

The Wyatt Hotel and Resort looked just like every other crisp hotel out there. I think it was trying to look like a Courtyard Marriot or something. No dirt had even dared to collect on the hotel signs, whose lettering were in an elegant cursive, black words on a creamy white backdrop, trim red lines running around the top and bottom of the hotel name, framing it. _Fancy_.

My dress shoes gently clipped against the cobblestone walkway to the main entrance, and a cool evening breeze played at my hair. There weren't any other businesses in sight of the hotel, I noticed, as I looked down the road that brought me here one last time. With an appreciative glance up at the blues and pinks in the darkening sky, I breathed one last breath of fresh air before the automatic doors of the lobby pulled apart, and then swallowed me whole.

I stopped short just inside of the entrance. Students were milling about as they slowly lined up along the hallway, which I assumed lead to the ballroom. Emmett had walked ahead to meet Jasper, who was standing casually, looking at a phone which he had slipped from his pocket. It only registered with me that Edward had not followed when I saw him staring at me from my periphery, his face expressionless.

"You coming?" he asked, nodding his head toward his friends.

I looked at Emmett and Jasper speaking in whispers. Jasper chose that moment to look up and our eyes, unfortunately, connected. He twisted his eyebrows condescendingly and then smirked, laughing before he turned back to Emmett, his eyes much wider than before.

I had a sinking feeling I was being talked about behind my back, even though I could see it all go down with my eyes.

Edward was still waiting, frowning now. I took a hesitant step forward. It was all Edward needed to automatically turn around and get in line behind his friends.

I stayed behind the three of them as the line moved forward steadily into the ballroom. I took a deep breath and remembered my resolution that I could handle this situation. I kept looking around for girls, but I didn't see any. Were they fashionably late?

Emmett, Jasper, and Edward were silent as we shuffled forward. I couldn't help but like the way their suit curved around their bodies, and therefore spent the slow walk into the ballroom tamping down _those_ kinds of feelings and focused on the thought of girls again.

Girls. Girls who had boobs, to which I am attracted. I would sneak a peek or something—because that's typical of a heterosexual member of my gender.

I didn't give any of those notions of feeling Edward's hair a passing thought anymore. Nope. Not at all. Because I am a breast man.

I also ignored the sensation of vomit at the back of my throat.

My fingers started twitching, needing to be occupied as my eyes continued to look everywhere but at the guys, as my mind began to race with more ridiculous thoughts about how the whole evening would play out _(Would I get caught staring at boobs? Was some girl going to bitch me out for it? Or jump my bones?). _And where were these goddamn girls anyway? They were kind of essential to my expectations of the whole night.

And there I went with an expectation. Now I was bound to be disappointed.

Edward, Emmett and Jasper were now all joking about something. I didn't pay attention. We filed into the ballroom, which I was happy to see was not drenched in balloons and streamers, and other crappy paper-thin decorations that would most likely just end up in a landfill later on. Instead, there were crisp white table cloths and slightly cushioned navy blue seats around wide round tables. A DJ resided on the opposite side of the door we were entering into the big rectangular room. The walls had cream pin stripes and wainscoting. It was all very stately.

I noticed teachers first, in addition to the guys from my school standing around. I mindlessly followed Edward's rather wide-shouldered back to a round table. We broke through a heavy grouping of other guys to get to it, but once we did, I stumbled a bit in my walking at what I saw.

Girls.

Girls, girls, girls. Everywhere girls.

For once, I thought I was in heaven. Never before in my life had I been so happy to be so completely surrounded by my own sex. There were girls in dresses, girls in heels, girls with make-up caked on, girls trying to make their chests defy gravity with push-up bras. They were giggling and gossiping, and many were pretending that we didn't know that they were talking about us guys. I loved it, reveled in the general sense of all that is girl with happy nostalgia. But at the same time, I felt a pang come from somewhere behind my ribs—my heart, my lungs even. It almost hurt to breathe for a moment when I realized that I didn't get to be a part of Girl World tonight, and wouldn't be able to for a long time.

As soon as the disappointment settled, it disappeared once I realized my mistake. I stopped being excited to see my own sex. They weren't my own sex, I reminded myself again. They were strange, complex creatures which I just happened to understand. And they were pretty, so my appreciative staring would be normal, if they noticed, that is.

I wouldn't have to worry about them noticing anything in my present company, though, because once Edward, Jasper, Emmett and I all settled at the table, they quickly caught the eyes of a group of girls. One of them immediately broke away from her pack and descended upon us.

She was the definition of petite. Everything about her body was slim, and she was much shorter than most girls here, but you could tell that she tried to make up for her height with her hair, which was incredibly spiky. And black, like she had black needles sticking out from her head. Her eyes were round and bright, and her smile held some mega-wattage. She had on a pair of patent leather pump heels that were so cute that (if I were a girl) I would want some of my own, and a strapless sweetheart bubble dress that made her legs look longer. Her makeup was dark and dramatic. She was so excited to have spotted Edward, Jasper, and Emmett at the table that it almost seemed as if she skipped her way to us.

"Hi guys!" she said as soon as she was in front of us, sounding nervous and excitable. "How's school been since you've been back? I mean, we haven't been back that long so I can't imagine that anything has really happened at St. Bart's because nothing's really happened at Mary Anna's, but still, how's it been?"

"Fine, Alice," Edward said calmly. Emmett nodded along. Jasper looked away, like only an ass like him would do.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening. "I didn't notice you!" She put the full force of her attention on me now, and I felt my eyes widen as I figuratively shrank back from it. "I'm Alice, Edward's cousin. You're new, right? The, um, what it's called? Scholarship winner?"

"Uh, yup. It's called the Felton," I replied as best as I could. For some reason I was having trouble registering that I was actually being spoken to by a girl just like I had wanted. Now that it was happening, however, I wasn't so sure I was comfortable.

"Yeah! The Felton! That was it. Oh, that's so cool. I really wish that Mary Anna's would have stuff like that." Alice's waved around while she jabbered on. "You know, opportunities that allow people who aren't completely rich snobs to come in and get a good education. I mean, have you looked at the areas outside of Chicago? Not all that great everywhere. People could benefit from scholarship opportunities at schools like ours."

"Uh. . . yeah."

"So, do you like it so far? Must be a hell of a lot harder than whatever public school you had to go to last year."

"Yup, I guess it is," I said uncertainly. I looked around for more socially adept people to help me make conversation with this girl, but Emmett and Jasper were sending each other knowing looks, while Edward watched our conversation in amusement.

"Where are you from?" Alice asked, her head cocking to the side.

"Chelmsford."

"Oh. . . oh! I think I've heard of it. That's some sort of ghetto isn't it?" A look of guilt crossed her face. "Oh geez, I didn't mean to insult you or anything."

"Uh," I laughed awkwardly. "No, don't worry about it."

"So," she began again, looking at all four of us now. "No one is going to ask me how my school year has been so far?"

"Alice," Edward began. "You haven't given us the chance."

"Yes I have!" she said indignantly, and her hands went to rest on her hips, cinching the flowy material of her purple dress. "I've given you a chance to have manners and ask your favorite relative how she's been, haven't I?"

"No," Jasper cut in, shaking his head.

"Oh." She pouted, looking put out. "Well I didn't mean to. And wait," she said, turning to me again, "I forget. Do you like it here? And what's _your name_!" she suddenly shouted, her voice escalating and her arms flying up when she realized she didn't know that crucial piece of information. "No one's even tried to tell me your name and introduce us!" Her eyes narrowed at Edward.

I looked at Edward too, feeling a little cornered and scared. His eyes held no sympathy though.

"His name is Ben Cheney," he said, his polite tone sounding just a little mocking.

"He could have told me that himself, Edward. You can be such an ass," she huffed somewhat teasingly. "Anyway, you like it here?"

I nodded, supplying it with a weak, "Yeah. . ."

"That's good. I'm glad you can fit in with these guys." She shot another scathing look at Edward, which, coincidentally, left no mark. "I can't imagine I would be able to be surrounded by them all time. Oh my god—can you imagine? Me having to live with my cousin and his friends?" She laughed at the idea, and I could only muster up a twisted smile in return. "Thank god I wasn't born a boy and sent here. But then again, if I were a boy we'd probably all get along." She stopped and took a deep breath. "Actually, I just got this image in my head of what it would be like to be the only girl in an all-boy's school. Like, going to class, and you're the only thing with boobs so obviously all the desperate ones try to get with you for it. Might be easier to get a boyfriend that way—to be the only girl around. Oh my god!" she gasped. "Hold on, I have to go tell Rose my idea."

She turned on a dime and scuttled off towards the group of girls she left, laughing to herself and still shouting out over her should her at us. Quick little sentiments like "It's brilliant! So evil! I'm a genius!" floated back and echoed quite loudly across the floor.

I stood stunned. Just utterly and completely stunned. No thought, no power of speech was left to me after Alice came and sucked it all up. I only vaguely registered the horror that she could think it was a good idea to be the only girl in an all-boy's school. I wanted to go tell her that it was like walking into the wrong classroom on your first day of school and realizing your mistake too late, thereby being forced to listen to a lecture on, say, the ins and outs of sexual reproduction instead of why Charlemagne was an important figure in history. But again, I didn't have the power of speech.

"So," Edward drawled beside me. "That was Alice."

I let out one pathetic attempt at a chuckle. "Yeah."

"The rest of them aren't that crazy. Rose is a bitch—"

"A hot bitch," Emmett interrupted.

Edward rolled his eyes. "And Angela is quiet. Doesn't talk much."

"A prude," Jasper added.

I narrowed my eyes at him, not liking his word choice as I soaked up yet another reason to quietly despise him. 'Prude' echoed in my ears as I felt my mind time travel, and I zapped to an angry memory of my time at Chelmsford High.

**

* * *

Flashback**

_There's gotta be a seat. There's gotta be a seat. Just one damn seat to put my butt on is all I fucking need. Why is that so much to ask? _

I had been at this school for a month, and since I wasn't so shiny and new, I should've had a regular routine down: certain hallways to certain classes, favorite clean bathrooms, and a preferred seat at a lunch table with decent people. But I didn't. I stood off to the side from where people were exiting the lunch line and scanned the cafeteria fruitlessly.

"Bella!" a voice shouted. I cringed. I was beginning to recognize that voice and know that I should avoid it at all costs.

"Looking for a seat, Bella?" James continued to yell from several tables away. I finally gave him the decency of eye contact and shook my head in his direction, trying to quickly and quietly tell him no so that he would leave me alone.

"C'mon, there's a seat for you here!" I had looked away, but glanced back at his words. There was no seat available, and all of his friends were snickering. He was being an ass, as usual.

I looked away again, determined to ignore him, but he kept shouting. Some kids stared at him while he made a spectacle of himself, while most didn't give him the time of day, like I was attempting to do.

"Oh c'mon. Come over, we don't bite!"

_Ignore, ignore, ignore. There's gotta be a seat somewhere else far away from him. Maybe the freshmen tables. . . _

"Right here, Bella. I've got a seat for you right here."

Stupidly, I looked again, and this time, James was patting his crotch. I snapped my head away, feeling disgusted.

"C'mon," he continued to heckle, his smile huge. "Don't be such a prude!"

**

* * *

**

"Don't be like that," Edward admonished Jasper, breaking me out of the bitterness of the memory. "She's a nice girl."

"Shut up, Edward. What are you, forty? _She's a nice girl._ Pfft," Emmett said. "You're a prude too."

"And you're an ass. Shut up," he replied, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Edward!" a familiar voice called out, halting the sibling-like spat they were having. Alice was waving from where her friends were gathered at a table, gesturing for him to go meet her. "Edward!"

"Come on," he sighed, ruffling his hair. "I'm not handling her alone."

"Jesus," Emmett grumbled, but Jasper complied silently. I stood there, unwilling to follow and get sucked into the word vomit vortex that was Alice.

"Well?" Edward asked, looking back at me. "You coming?"

_Damn. He called me out._ I smiled tightly. "Oh yeah, sure. Let the fun begin." Edward smirked in response, making me feel a little easier.

As we got closer, I noticed the new edition to Alice's little group of friends. There was a blonde Barbie doll in a red dress, as well as a meek looking brunette in classic black hiding slightly behind Alice's bubble skirt. There was an additional brunette in emerald green whose upper arm Alice was clutching excitedly. She was beaming brightly at Edward, and from the way he was smiling back, I began to guess that this was the girl they were talking about in the car.

"Hi Bree," Edward greeted, opening his arms to her. She stepped into them and hugged him tightly. She leaned up and her lips touched his ear as she whispered into it. . . and I began to feel sick.

Refusing to let myself think about vomiting, I refocused on this whole guy thing that I got to do for now, about how I got to be what Alice could only giggle and speculate about, and in the end it would all be worth it.

I hoped.

I was formally introduced to the other girls who Edward had just told me about. As soon as I saw them I had their type picked out. Rosalie, the one in red, was a bitch—an icy bitch who knew she looked good and I couldn't see myself ever finding common ground with her. Angela, the meek one, was obviously quiet and probably the one I could see myself being friends with, unless she had some secret annoying flaw once you got her to speak. Bree was just of _those_ to me. You know, everything about her was bright and happy. Up close it was apparent just how impeccable her clothes and makeup were. I began speculating that she was involved in student government, had all A's, and would one day have the whole white picket fence, a golden retriever, and a career that she could balance while raising exactly two-point-five of Edward's kids, when Emmett's voice snapped me out of it.

"Oh, what in the hell is that faggot doing?" he groused as soon as he sat down on an empty chair. Everyone immediately asked "What?" as they also decided to sit, and then all our gazes followed Emmett's to find Eric Yorkie across the room.

At first glance noting really looked wrong with him, until he turned to face us and I saw _it_: the hideously bright Hawaiian t-shirt under his suit jacket. It didn't match his complexion, his suit, his hair—_anything_. Instead, he looked like some sort of refined, cigar smoking hobo. Without the cigar, of course.

"It's Eric Yorkie," Jasper replied. "What else do you expect?"

Everyone, including the girls, snorted and smirked at his remark. I was the only with any sort of tie to him, and so I kept my mouth shut. I'd ask him what the hell he was doing later.

**

* * *

Edward's POV**

I watched Ben watch Eric with a contemplative scowl and wondered what he could possibly be thinking if he couldn't find it in him to laugh along. The suit he had on for the night wasn't helping, it made him look stiff as he stared at Eric. Everything about him so far was too serious.

Alice cleared her throat. "So, are we just going to sit here all night?"

She was met from silence, until, "Well, obviously not," Rose said dryly.

I felt a pair of eyes and noticed Bree grinning up at me. Ignoring my instinct to roll my eyes, I crinkled them and smiled back at her. _Of course I won't make you sit here all night. I'll dance with you, don't worry. . . _

"What about you, Jasper?" Alice asked. "You're going to dance tonight? You never do. You have to."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I just said so, so you have to," she answered pertly to his unspoken question.

"Okay," he said dismissively while smirking at Emmett. "We'll see."

Alice huffed and rolled her eyes at Rose, who pursed her lips and shrugged. Angela smirked while Bree barely managed to hold back a derisive snort. And then, in a matter of seconds where they all made eye contact with each other, the girls shifted from some dark critical mood to a lighter one as they all smiled, and I knew in some freakishly girly way that they'd all had an entire conversation. How they did it, with sympathetic noises and knowing looks, I'd never know.

"So," Alice began again, eyes sparkling at a new target, "you're going to dance, right Ben? We've never seen you dance. You look like you got moves."

Ben took a moment to snap out of his thoughts at Alice's disarming grin. He had a wistful smile on his face that quickly transformed to an expression of mild horror. "What? No, I don't plan on dancing," he replied, smiling at her politely.

Alice, who happened to be seated directly across from Ben, leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm, and pouted. "Oh, come on! I know you've got awesome dance moves just by looking at you. You have to show us!" Her voice held just the right amount of whine.

Ben laughed lightly; a quiet rumble coming from his chest. "Trust me, I don't have moves. Emmett probably does, though," he deflected.

"Are you sure?" Emmett asked, leaning back and appraising him with a joking grin.

Ben smirked, leaning forward towards Alice. "You know how I dance?" he asked her.

"How?" she questioned, smiling indulgently, her face melting even more into her palm as she tilted forward. I noticed all the girls shifting, paying closer attention.

"Like I'm an actor on the Cosby Show."

For the first time in a long time that I'd seen, Alice froze and seemed a little lost for words. "What?"

"You know how all the actors dance to the theme song in the beginning?" Ben clarified. Alice nodded, along with Angela, Rose, and Bree, even though they weren't being directly spoken to. "Well," he continued, "no matter what's playing, those are the only moves I can pull out. And I want you guys to still want to be friends with me, so . . . ."

He broke off as all the girls dissolved into giggles. Even Rose cracked a smile. Us guys looked at him in surprise, not realizing that he was even capable of eliciting such a reaction from the opposite sex. Who could guess that the terrible capacity Ben had for being awkward morphed into charm in front of girls? Certainly not Emmett, Jasper, or I.

Alice's eyes were brighter now, her smile wider as she looked at her partner in crime, Rose, who smiled like she didn't want to admit that Ben had surprised her so. I felt Bree grab onto my upper arm and turn into it as she laughed. Angela probably had the strangest reaction out of all. Her grin looked as if it wanted to conquer her face, yet she kept trying to clamp her lips shut as she turned bright red and looked away from the group.

Emmett, Jasper and I all exchanged the same look. The one that said, _Damn_.

Ben caught our exchange, and instead of sitting back smug or arrogant about whipping out a completely different set of moves than the ones Alice kept talking about, he looked at me with the classic deer caught in headlights expression, silently asking, _What?_

"Dude," Emmett laughed quietly. Jasper and I glanced at him, before shaking our heads disbelievingly in agreement.

Alice frowned quickly at Emmett and turned back to Ben. "Well," she grinned, and hell if I was her cousin, I still recognized the flirtatious flash to her eyes and curve to her lips, even the stupid way she pushed her chest out under the guise of sitting up straighter. "I'll still be your friend if you dance like that."

"Same," chorused Bree and Angela, who mirrored Alice's excitement. Rose was more tame, watching along in silent amusement.

"Oh yeah?" Ben asked, his eyebrows quirking, mouth twitching. "You'd be friends with me, Cosby Show moves and all?"

Again, that indulgent smile of Alice's made an appearance. "Yup," she nodded. "Cosby Show moves and all."

Chuckling with a shrug, Ben mumbled, "Okay," and then he looked down like he was suddenly too shy to meet her eyes.

Emmett, Jasper and I all shared yet another look, because we all knew from experience how Alice acted around people she wanted to help bring out of their shell (she _was_ friends with Angela, after all). As expected, Alice sat up even straighter, becoming more determined. "Yeah," she said, placing her palms down on the table. "Okay. . . how about now?"

Ben's head snapped up. "What?"

"Let's go now. There's a good song playing that you can show me your Cosby moves to!"

Ben stiffened. "No one's dancing right now."

"So we'll start a trend."

"No," he said slowly. "That's okay. I can show you later."

Alice stood up and walked over to stand in front of him. We watched in confusion as she looked down at Ben in total silence for several agonizing seconds, and then said, "Okay, now it's later. Let's go."

She grabbed his hands and pulled. Ben lifted out of the seat as if he weighed nothing and nearly stumbled into her. "But. . . I don't. . . uh. . . I don't dance with girls," he protested as she led him away.

Her laugh was loud as they reached the edge of the empty dance floor. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

I looked around at the table in disbelief. "Did that really just happen?" I asked.

"Yeah, I think it did," Bree answered, giving my arm another squeeze.

"I think your cousin wants to have Ben's babies," Emmett replied.

I shuddered at the thought, but before I could comment in the negative, Jasper stepped in. "_Shut up_," he intoned with exasperation. Emmett gave him his classic _What did I do?_ stare.

"Yeah," I agreed. "That's Alice you're talking about."

"Exactly," Emmett said. "It's Alice, your cousin. Not your sister. Grow up."

Shaking my head, I recalled a car ride not too far in the past where Emmett _also_ had some growing up to do, and watched Alice and Ben on the floor.

The music wasn't blasting yet. People were still milling around and talking to their peers or teachers. Others were trying to figure out who they wanted to sit with at their table for the meal portion of the night, so the noise of conversation around us had barely reached the level of a dull roar. All in all, it was safe to say that Alice's loud peals of laughter at whatever Ben was saying were drawing attention.

And then, without warning, Ben began to move.

I heard Jasper let out a deep breath of annoyance from beside me, and I turned to glance at him as he gave me one hell of a stare before aiming it back at Alice and Ben. "Something," he breathed, frustrated. "Something is not right with that kid."

Jasper was right. And Ben wasn't kidding. The Cosby Show remark wasn't a lie. Ben was a white, teenaged reincarnation of Bill Cosby in the Eighties. There was a synth-beat jazz tune that apparently Ben could only hear, and at some point in history the way he was moving to it was called dancing. To my poor eyes, who couldn't help but watch what was happening in front of them, it was clear there was an invisible zone that Ben's torso remained in while his head bopped and legs jutted out at random, elbows occasionally twisting out.

Most everyone's attention was drawn to Ben, thanks to Alice's squeals of delight and encouragement, as variations of the robot, the funky chicken, the shopping cart—_and shit, was he pretending to clean his ears out?_—were thrown into the routine.

Ben waved his arms at Alice and she joined in, trying to mimic his 'moves'. If I weren't so stunned that it was actually happening, I might have found it funny. Unfortunately, it was too horrible at the moment for me to laugh, or even crack a smile.

Eventually Alice gave up trying to be Mrs. Cosby. She stood still, pausing as she watched Ben. Nodding her head to get herself in whatever rhythm Ben was following, she began to twist and slither her body up and down much like a miniature, less curvy version of Shakira in the modern style of dance that we were all much more accustomed to seeing.

"Is this really happening?" I asked again.

"Let's go join them!" Bree exclaimed, tugging on my arm.

"No," Rose said forcefully. "No way."

Jasper looked like he'd swallowed a lemon rind. "Fucking idiot," I heard him mumble.

Angela scowled at his comment before turning an adoring gaze back at Ben. I tried not to think about what that meant.

"Hell," Emmett began. "Even_ I_ think it's too early for this shit."

I hadn't noticed until then, but Bree was looking up at me expectantly, waiting for me to pull her up and make her the center of attention just like Alice had done with Ben. Refusing to do so, I looked up at Emmett and agreed. "I hear ya," I sighed.

The disappointment that filled Bree's face then wouldn't be the last time I'd see her look at me that way. After the song finished and Ben dragged Alice back to the table, they ended up being the life of the party. Or at least Alice was, and she did all she could to inject her enthusiasm into Ben and everyone else at the table. Bree quietly fumed beside me, and I knew she was jealous in a way that only girls could be over the good time her friend was having.

Ben responded to Alice, I guess, as much as someone as awkward as he could. And by the look on his face, I knew Emmett was thrilled at this change in Ben's reputation. He jumped right on the 'Ben Is Cool' train and added to the intense flirting going on amongst our group. As waiters came around and delivered a three course meal consisting of salad, some chicken thing, and cheesecake, it seemed more and more obvious that Emmett, Ben, and the girls were the only ones enjoying themselves. Even Bree ditched her efforts to get me to talk focused all her energies on Ben. I didn't care.

Jasper and I were quiet, although the only reason I could think Jazz would reject Ben's sudden popularity was his memory of the tampon that would never go away, and Ben's role in its disappearance.

Only once did Bree really try to pull me out of silence, copying Alice's not so subtle technique of grabbing onto my arm, pushing her boobs out at me, and looking at me while batting her heavily made up eyelashes. I had to listen to her sad attempts at conversation being whispered in my ear while she did so, and I cringed at some of the things said.

I must've never responded the way she wanted, even though I was polite about whatever she jabbered about, because the disappointment came back.

Again, I found myself not caring. I did my part, though. When the food was all cleared away and the DJ took over, I danced with her. I made sure all her friends saw her with me and got her a drink when she wanted one.

The whole night, however, I kept Ben in sight. There was just something about the way he interacted with Alice, and all other girls for that matter, that boggled me.

I watched all his interactions from a distance. He was all suave and smiles as he spoke with Principal Rogers, and other school officials in turn, with Alice on his arm. He was also constantly smiling or laughing as he showcased some more of his downright pitiful moves the rest of the night, again with Alice at his side.

I couldn't lie to myself. When I told Ben he had to come here to this dance to make an impression on those who had given him his scholarship, I thought I would have to walk him through it, especially considering the reaction he had to my telling him that. I thought I would make introductions, considering the clout I already held with the adults in charge. But if not that, I had guessed I would introduce Ben to some nice, quiet girl, like Angela, that wouldn't scare him and that he could dance with whenever he needed to look like he wasn't alone.

But none of that was the case. Ben didn't need me at all.

"It's a slow song," Bree said, tearing my gaze away from my cousin and friend. "Do you want to dance?"

She looked defeated as she played with the rings on her fingers in her lap, like she already knew the answer but gave it a shot anyway. I had danced with her to all the other regular songs, and if I were going to continue to be honest with myself, this didn't mean I wanted to dance with her more intimately, more meaningfully, to a slower one.

Yet the look she had on her face made me feel like an ass, so I agreed.

I had no idea what artist was singing the song I swayed to with Bree. I only listened to a few of the lyrics and they seemed to croon of the typical longing for someone they didn't think they could have. I concentrated on Bree's profile as she looked anywhere but at my face, and wondered where all my feelings for her went. They were there last year and lingered over the summer, but something happened. She was still pretty, her body was still awesome. The conversation. . . well, that was never really a big deal for us.

Maybe that was it. In the end, what the hell was I going to talk to her about?

I decided to give conversation another try.

"So," I began, clearing my throat. "You look really nice tonight."

Her eyes shot to mine, and she smiled shyly. I wondered if maybe that led her on, but I didn't think so considering the way we had acted around each other all night. And besides, it was the nice thing to do—to compliment a girl. I mean, she did look nice. She always looked nice.

"Thanks," she said softly. Her arms around my neck tightened as she pulled herself closer to me, and she shook her head so that her hair fell down her back and touched at my fingers where they rested on her waist. She frowned, deep in thought before she spoke again. "Are you all right, Edward?"

"Yeah," I said immediately. "Why? You think I'm not?"

Her eyes widened, and I realized I'd sounded defensive. "Well," she began hesitantly, "you've been really quiet. I didn't know if something had happened."

I shrugged. "No, nothing's happened."

"Did something happen with Alice?"

"What?"

She looked a little frightened of me again, and I blew out a breath to calm down.

"Listen, don't get mad at me," she said, sounding more firm and squaring her shoulders as best as she could while her arms were wrapped around me. "I'm just trying to figure out what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," I interrupted.

"You keep looking at Alice," she said bluntly, as if I were an idiot. "Why the hell would you stare at your cousin like that if something wasn't going on with you two?"

I frowned. "Alice? I guess I've looked at her, but. . . I'm—there's nothing going on between us," I finished lamely.

Bree seemed to want to disagree by the way one of her eyebrows raised itself, but the expression quickly shifted as, I assumed, a new train of thought took over.

"Is it Ben, then?" she asked, cocking her head. "Do you secretly hate him or something? Obligated to hang out with him? Want him away from your cousin?"

I started shaking my head. "What? No, we're friends. What—have I really been staring at them?" I asked, more to myself than to Bree. She nodded as her furrowed her brows, and then hugged herself closer to me, as if we had just solved a big problem between us.

I sighed and let it happen. She felt nice, and who the hell was I to be a jerk and push her away even though she was asking ridiculous questions that confused the hell out of me?

The song we were dancing to was a long one. I began dragging my hand through her hair absentmindedly, liking the way it felt in my fingers without actually processing the fact that what I was doing could be considered affection. It was when my hand made its fourth or fifth pass that it happened. I hit a snarl. My fingers couldn't pull through her hair anymore. I felt myself frowning and pushing back away from her in some sort of daze.

Bree was probably looking confused as to why I was putting distance between us as we continued to sway, but I didn't see her. My head turned to the right, my eyes saw Ben and Alice dancing not far away.

I could only see the sides of their faces, but Alice looked over the moon with happiness. Ben looked pretty freaking excited too. Against reason, I felt mad.

Mad, because they weren't even dancing close like Bree and I had been. Their arms were straight as they maintained the space in between them, like awkward seventh graders who were just beginning to interact with the opposite sex at a dance. But they were having fun, with an obvious ease between them that told me they had none of the awkwardness a pair of seventh graders would.

A nerve snapped. Outwardly, I didn't react. But inwardly, I became even more pissed. Or maybe pissed wasn't the word that truly described what I was feeling, but it was the closest that I could come up with. . . because how the hell can he warm up to Alice in a couple of hours when it took me days?

I looked down at Bree, suddenly feeling angry and determined. I pulled her closer. I ran my hand through her hair and found the little snarl again as I tried to calm down enough to articulate what I needed to say.

Had she been right? Had I been staring too much? And was it because I didn't want Ben near my cousin?

Did I not want him to have friends?

Other friends, friends who are girls?

Or was she making something out of nothing? I was curious about how Ben had handled himself all night, but I wasn't staring like she was suggesting. . . They were my eyes, I knew what they were doing.

Something out of nothing. . . turning nothing into something. . . That's what Bree had done. She had messed with my head.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

The song was winding down, I began taking my arms off her and stepping away.

"Yes, I'm fine," I said, not caring if I sounded too harsh or too impatient with her now.

She opened her mouth, frowning as if she wanted to correct some mistake, but I spoke before she could.

"I'll get you something to drink," I said, offering whatever would make her think I wasn't mad. "See you in a bit."

And then I walked away, out of the ballroom. In the hall, I could breathe. I walked up and down it for a little while, before deciding I would walk to the bathroom to make it look like I hadn't left the dance to have a hissy fit in the hall.

Or, I thought to myself, I had been out here for too long to tell people that all I had done was use the bathroom, and I should go back.

I took the few steps back to the door, reached my hand out to open it, when the handle smacked into my knuckles.

"Ah," I hissed, snapping my hand back and stepping away as the door opened.

Ben came through. He looked up, stopping as soon as he realized what just happened.

"Did I just open the door on your hand?" he asked, his mouth twisting sympathetically.

"Yeah," I muttered.

"Shit, sorry." He laughed nervously, like I wouldn't forgive him. And a little breathlessly, lightly, like. . .

"I thought I hit something but couldn't really tell," he said, apologizing again.

"It's all right."

"Is—" he began, but stopped as if something had caught in his throat. "Having a good time?"

He was acting like he always did around me, but I couldn't help but wonder how drastically different it might have been from how he was around Alice, and my anger, which had never really cooled, returned.

"Yeah," I responded gruffly. "Good time. So are you. I can tell."

"Yeah," he said, still holding open the door. "Your cousin isn't actually that bad."

I snorted.

"Well, she's a nervous talker," he amended, "but other than that's she's nice. I like her."

I raised a brow. "You like her?"

"Yeah I like her. Not like _that_, though. Is that a crime?" he bristled. He stepped forward, allowing the door to close behind him and the noise of the dance was muted somewhat.

I laughed uneasily. "No."

Ben looked at me skeptically. "Okay. Uh, were you going in?" He pointed to the door behind him.

"What?" I asked stupidly.

"Well I assumed you were going back into the ballroom, but you're just standing there. . ."

"Oh." I stood there, gaping like a fish, wondering if I was really ready to go back in there. "No, I'm not," I decided out loud. "I'm taking a break from all the. . . excitement."

Ben smiled sympathetically, and began pulling at his tie. He looked like he was going to say something, but the door swung open from behind him and smacked him on the back before he could get out of the way.

"Oh my god!" a voice squeaked from behind the door as Ben belatedly jumped to the side. "I'm so sorry!"

Ben was rubbing the back of his head, his face contorted slightly in pain. "No, no, it's all right. My fault for standing there."

Alice poked her head around the door, looking sheepish. "I'm really sorry. Are you okay?"

"I might have brain damage," he said, rubbing his forehead now for effect.

Alice looked genuinely upset. She pushed the door open and scurried over to the injured party, her hands fidgeting in front of her as if she wanted to reach out and inspect his head. "Oh no! Please don't joke with me! I'm sorry!"

Ben laughed. "I told you it's okay. I'm fine." He pulled his palm away and rapped the crown of his head with his knuckles. "No brain damage."

"Okay," Alice said, taking a deep breath. "But I'm still sorry. I had no idea you were there. It's just that you left and Angela forgot where you had said you were going—which is weird because she never forgets things like that—and then a song came on and I wanted to find you to make sure you were coming back because I think your Cosby moves might actually be appropriate this time!"

Ben smiled, looking completely unfazed with my cousin's energy, which was a complete turnaround from the expression of amazement and hesitance he had when he first met her—all of two hours ago.

"Well, I was going to go to the bathroom, if that's okay with you," he teased.

She scoffed. "Of course it's okay! You're going to miss the song though. What if this was the one?"

"Alice," he said assuredly, "there is no song except for the Cosby theme song."

"That's a lie!" she exclaimed.

I coughed intentionally to break up the flirting that was going on right in front of my eyes. My irritation was simmering below a very shallow surface, and I hated it. I hated myself for it. But my hate for Ben and my cousin's new formed, oh so cutesy, relationship was more pressing, and needed to stop. Now.

They looked at me as if my coughing meant that I had something to say. I didn't have something to say. They just needed to stop talking—flirting—with one another in front of me. So I stared at them like they were the crazy ones, and asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Alice said quickly. Her body remained twisted towards Ben, and she leaned her head to the side as she looked back over at him. "So you'll go to the bathroom and I see you back inside?" she asked, suddenly shy.

Ben rolled his eyes. "Of course. Just let me pee."

Alice giggled and threw the door back open, allowing more of the music to push its way through before she disappeared through it, and it closed again behind her.

"Okay, well, everyone seems to be getting into an accident standing here, and um, I'm actually going to go pee now," Ben was saying. He lifted his arm to point behind me, but I didn't really hear every word or recognize his action, I was again too focused on an afterimage of Alice playfully seducing Ben that was burned into my retina.

"Huh?" I mumbled.

"The bathroom?" Ben tried to step out of the doorway, but I was kind of standing in the space between an oversized plant and the corridor where the door was, blocking him.

"Oh."

I stared at Ben. I had no idea what my expression was like, but I knew what his was: He was concerned for my sanity, and possibly slightly uncomfortable and/or scared.

Didn't matter. Again, all I could hear in my head was my thoughts wondering why he was so quick to warm up to Alice. He smiled so easily with her. Bantered with her like they were best friends. Why was he such a loner at school? Why was he suddenly Mr. Popular with my cousin?

Why did this bother me?

"Hi?" Ben was saying now. His voice was too loud, as if he were talking with headphones on. It would have been comical if I wasn't so out of it. "Hello? Okay, Edward. You're blocking my way to the bathroom. I am going to step around you now."

He did step. Tried to step right around me.

But the oversized plant was there.

Ben's eye collided with a leaf or branch—I would never be sure—and he slapped at the eye, losing his footing as he did so. He fell sideways into me. And if it hadn't suddenly seemed like everything was in slow motion, I might have been able to keep my balance, I might have been able to correct Ben's misstep by grabbing his shoulder or something.

Instead, we both fell to our sides, facing each other. Ben's calf was over my shins. His hand was still rubbing at his eye.

"Oh shit," he moaned.

My mind was rebooting. My brain was coming to. I felt like an idiot for zoning out, and hurriedly twisted my body, my palm going down to the carpeted floor to push myself up.

But it wasn't the carpet I touched.

No, what I instead touched could never be confused for carpet. It was rounded. That was my first immediate classification. As my hand pushed onto it more to move up, more details filtered in automatically: It was also cloth-covered, cylindrical, an inch or so in diameter. . .

And semi-hard.

My eyes widened and I jolted up, wiping my palm on my pants, as if that could remove the feeling of what I intrinsically knew I just felt. But the feeling wouldn't go away. It didn't want to go away. It was like my body wanted to compensate for the loss of what was in its hand, and I felt myself rising slightly in my pants.

I looked down at Ben, and this time I knew his expression mirrored mine.

His eyes were wide. His right knee was bent because his foot was flat on the ground and his lap was open, unconsciously exposing the area that had just been assaulted. One arm was still by his side, the other unmoving over his eye. His whole body was frozen.

I took a step back. Ben took that as permission to move.

It wasn't.

"Hey," I said, feeling sweaty, my voice shaky. "Sorry there, about that." I took another small step. Ben began standing up slowly. I jumped over his legs before he was completely upright. I swung the door to the ballroom open and didn't give Ben the chance to crack a joke or harass me good naturedly for messing up like that. I was too confused my own body's reaction to comprehend his.

It was time to leave. Time to pretend that what just happened had never happened.

I held onto the door handle, using it to propel myself through it, and forced it shut behind me, my eyes scanning the ballroom for my friends. I shifted uncomfortably and took a step forward. Everyone was normal. Everyone was smiling and having a good time. No one knew that I. . .

And then I saw her, someone who I could be normal with, standing alone by our table as she adjusted her heel.

Bree.


	14. The End of the Night

**AN: **So a week ago was the one year anniversary of when I started posting this. I'm nowhere near as far along as I thought I'd be by now. Let's try to fix that this summer, shall we?

Thanks to His Golden Eyes for the rec after the last time I actually updated a chapter—you gave me the most reviews and alerts ever for an update. I'll love you forever for that.

And sorry I faked many of you out with my update a week or so ago. A few of you didn't see it before I deleted it. It was an author's note asking you to go nominate me for a Giggle/Snort Award while there was still time…. And I have to thank all of those who saw it and nominated me, because I made it onto the ballot! I love you, faithful readers, you are awesome.

Voting for the Giggle/Snort Awards began May 20th. And it goes until June 4th, I believe. Please, pretty please, go vote for me? I'm in the "Best Bella" and "Best Overall" categories.  
http : // gigglesnortawards . mmmboptastic . com

**

* * *

Chapter 12: The End of the Night**

He flew, literally flew over my legs as I was trying to stand, and flung himself through the door. It slammed a little when he forced it shut.

I was reeling, not completely understanding what had just happened.

Well, I had an idea, obviously, but I was still trying to decide if I should be worried or not.

Edward had felt my sock penis. Gross, true. But was it _'I have to flee from you right now or burst into flames'_ gross? I didn't really think so, because it was my fault we fell and he was just trying to stand, so it was accidental. . .

But maybe, just maybe, with that one brief feel, he knew that something wasn't right. Because let's face it, as much as I was able to successfully pretend while dancing with Alice, I was not a guy. I did not know how a real penis should feel—up close or through a pair of dress slacks. Maybe he knew it was fake. Maybe he could even tell that it was a stuffed tube sock gone wrong. Maybe he had just run to Jasper, and now they were going to come after me with pitchforks and knives.

What was my next move supposed to be?

I took a deep breath, much like the one I needed to take before entering the building tonight, and just let my gut guide me.

While I waited for my gut to speak, because it wasn't very vocal at that second, I stood and leaned against the wall. I didn't feel too panicked. Or at least, I wasn't panicked in the extreme. I knew what that felt like when I was staring at my tampon, and this feeling of anxiety was nothing like that.

Maybe Edward's reaction was how all guys reacted when others weren't there to witness something as embarrassing as that.

I closed my eyes, and the first thing my gut told me was that I still _really_ needed to pee.

So, as anticlimactic or as inappropriate as a response it seemed, I went to the bathroom. I continued to make sure I breathed evenly. I couldn't afford to overreact. I couldn't afford to do anything that might make my inner girl obvious.

Without intending to, I took my time in the stall. I re-tucked my shirt even though it wasn't necessary. I adjusted my sock penis even though it didn't feel as if Edward had knocked it out of place. And then I went back out to the hall. I walked calmly past the piece of floor where the whole grab-n-go happened, and gently pulled the door open. It had been much abused within the past fifteen minutes.

I didn't see Edward as I scanned over my educators and peers to find Alice. I think I expected to see him, if only so that we could make awkward eye contact and recognize wordlessly that we would never speak of the hallway again. Sparing one last glance over my shoulder at the piece of floor where Edward and I were, I stepped back into the party just before the door the closed it off from my sight.

Something big, or something important, had happened there when I crashed into him. I just couldn't pinpoint what.

And the way the music in the ballroom surrounded me, and the way boys and girls were mixing with sexual tension hanging immaturely all around them, with the adults keeping an amused eye as they talked amongst themselves, felt completely out of place. I found Alice in the crowd easily, her happy chatter punctuated above all other sound. I found her friends scattered about as they all talked and laughed and danced. I found Jasper and Emmett talking with some other guys, looking bored and anxious.

I tried to think of who I should talk to, of where I belonged.

Another deep breath, another word from my gut, and I walked over to Alice.

It was Angela, who Alice was in the middle of giggling her mind out to, that noticed me first.

"Oh my god, I'm loving it," Alice was giggling. "I sound like a McDonald's ad, but I'm loving it!"

Angela's eyes flashed to mine, and I nodded in greeting. Alice stopped laughing and rambling. "What are you—" She turned, her face lighting up when she recognized me. "Oh! Oh my god, there you are!"

"Hi ladies," I greeted. I found myself often sounding like a slime ball when talking to girls, unintentionally, but fortunately, most everyone I had spoken to tonight had picked up on some underlying sarcasm or something in my tone, and they weren't grossed out by it.

"Hi," Angela muttered, nearly inaudibly, because Alice barely took a breath before she began speaking again.

"I was just wondering where you were. Jeez, since when do boys take that long to pee?" She snorted. "Unless you weren't peeing." Her eyes widened. "Oh my god, wait. I was just kidding. Gross. Don't tell me if you were taking a dump. I don't want to know."

"Ha-ha," I said blandly, rolling my eyes while I smiled at her. "It was just number one, though. Don't worry."

Alice raised an eyebrow, and after glancing at me, Angela began giggling.

"What?" I asked her.

"Your face."

I smirked. "Okay, you want to know what I was doing really? I was taking a break. You guys are wearing me out." For effect, I huffed in mock exasperation. Although it was pretty much true. These girls had a lot of fucking energy, and if I didn't have million ace wraps on to disguise my boobs and wasn't therefore sweating my ass off, then I might have been able to keep up with them.

"Oh, poor Ben," Alice pouted, looking unsympathetic and unconvinced. "But this might be the only time we get to hang out like this!"

"Who says we're going to hang out again?" I teased. Secretly, I was pretty serious though. Were we really going to hang out again? And even though I liked her, did I want to if it was going to take so much effort?

"Um, I do," Alice stated, putting her hands on her hips. "We're friends now, Ben. You're stuck with me."

I laughed uncomfortably, because honestly, I didn't know if I could talk myself up into doing this sort of thing again. "Okay, sure. Whatever you say."

She rolled her eyes and then looked to Angela for confirmation before she spoke. "Anyway, we don't care if you're tired. We wanna dance a little more. The night's almost over."

"Is it really?" I looked around for a clock, but couldn't find one.

Alice pulled out her cell phone and nodded at it. Then I felt like an idiot for not looking at my own. "Yep," she nodded. "Night's almost over. Went by fast. So we need to dance more."

She wiggled her eyebrows at me and I groaned as a way of trying to plead with her. "I'm tired," I protested. "Can't we just stand and, I don't know, talk?"

Angela started nodding, but Alice cut her off. "No!" she complained. "The night is young!"

Then something horrible happened. I could hear the jerking strands of horror music fill my head as the whole room came to a still and the music stopped. The DJ's voice came over the entire room.

"Hello class of 2009 from Mary Anna's and St. Bart's! Our night is slowly beginning to wind down, and so we're going to slow it down a bit with the tunes. So find a friend or someone special and keep having fun."

This had only happened once before—the whole slow song thing. It was awkward and I didn't know how to hold Alice. Nothing about it made me want to risk doing it again. But now Alice's eyes were shining, and Angela looked angry and disappointed.

Both of them clearly had some type of expectation. And for the first time, I think I finally understood why some guys had a hard time making a decision about girls. Especially in a situation like this.

I mean, here were two girls in front of me. Alice and I had clearly been buddy-buddy all night. She was really the only one that put herself out there and spoke to me, so it was no wonder I warmed up to her and actually loosened up enough to dance and have a good time. It made sense that I should slow dance with her, especially since I had done it before.

Angela, on the other hand, was a different story. She had been there all night long, hanging on the edge of things. She was nice, very quiet like the guys had said, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

But I wasn't stupid. I couldn't ignore the weird way she would stare at me. Or how she would laugh at something I said when I wasn't even directly speaking to her. It was uncomfortable because she wouldn't try to insert herself into the conversation anymore than that, and because of that I had no idea what to say to her, and I just knew that I would rather go kiss Aaron Matthews' ass than wrap my arms around her.

So, finally, after inwardly cringing at the expectations in their eyes, I caved into the pressure and looked at Alice.

"Want to dance?" I asked, even though if I actually had a choice, I would be sitting at a table right now, not wearing down the joints in my feet anymore.

The only consolation I had right now was that I hadn't been wearing heels all night, like Alice and Angela were. The things girls will do to look good and have a good time. . .

"Why yes," Alice grinned. "Yes I would."

I smiled at Angela as I led her friend away, although I felt like an ass for it, because it was a pity smile, and what girl wants a pity smile from some guy she's into but clearly isn't interested back? By the brief look I had of Angela's stricken face, it was obvious she wasn't a masochist like that.

I linked arms with Alice as we walked away. Linked arms. And I huddled close to her, too. When I realized that I was leaning on her in a very girly way I tried to stand straight, but her grip was strong, and I ended up staying in very close proximity to her.

I didn't mind, she smelled good. I missed the smell of girly perfume. But I probably should have realized what was starting to happen when she wouldn't let me go.

"I really love this song," Alice commented as she put her arms around my neck. She pulled herself closer to me than she ever had before—until her elbows curved around my neck. It put her face really close to my face. And I mean really close. Since I liked her well enough, I pretended to not to care that she was all 'up in my grill' and just went with it. That happened to be another flag I ignored.

I listened to the song streaming around the room and nodded, holding onto Alice's ribcage awkwardly because I didn't know of any other appropriate place to put my hands. "This is a really old song. I feel like they could've chosen a better one—a more recent one," I amended.

The song was S Club 7's "Never Had A Dream Come True." The song was so old and so cheesy was actually comical, but by looking at Alice's face it was obvious she still really had a thing for it. Some girls were like that though—and I understood why, with my superior guy knowledge of the opposite sex.

"Maybe, but I still love it," Alice replied. She giggled, and then to my amusement, tried singing along. "_Everybody's got something they had to leave behind. One regret from yesterday that just seems to grow with time_."

She scrunched up her face as she attempted to sing dramatically, and it was so surprisingly horrible that I began laughing so hard, I had to lean my forehead on her shoulder.

I heard her break off from her wailing and laugh with me. Looking up, I noticed her wailing had gotten us a few strange looks from other couples trying to be romantic. And still laughing, I pulled my head up to tease the crap out of her, when a flash of Hawaiian colors caught my eye.

All good-natured making fun of forgotten, I began watching Eric Yorkie and his shirt that had grabbed my attention. He was in a corner not far from where Alice and I were dancing, and he was talking to Aaron Matthews. It seemed to be civil, but I couldn't stop the red light from going off in my head, remembering the times where he would warn me against Aaron and his ilk.

"Hey, I'm not that bad," Alice was saying. "I have an excellent voice."

I snorted, forgetting about what I just noticed, and turned to pay attention to my dance partner. "Oh yeah, a very excellent one."

She pretended to be offended. "Excuse me, Mr. Cheney. If I'm still friends with you even though you can only dance like Bill Cosby you still have to be friends with me for singing so bad. It's only fair."

I chuckled and shook my head and Alice pulled herself closer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric slap Aaron Matthews on the back in a. . .familial? way. But I stopped focusing on it when Alice pouted at me. "You're not saying anything. You're not going to be my friend," she deadpanned.

"Oh please," I huffed. "I'll still be your friend."

Her responding grin was instant. The crook of her elbow slid to the edge of my shoulder, and her fingers began playing with the tips of the hairs at the back of my neck. Her touch was feather light, but I still knew it was there.

But if it was strange, I ignored it when she started frowning.

"God, you are so nice, Ben," she said, exhaling sharply, like I shouldn't be a nice person.

"Um, thank you?"

"I mean, like, you're really nice. Not like a lot of the guys here are nice, you know?" I shook my head. "Like you haven't ignored anyone or blown us off," she explained. "Well, you did disappear randomly, but that was so you could _pee._" She rolled her eyes and smiled as if she still didn't believe I went to the bathroom.

"It's just different. I wasn't expecting it," she concluded.

I was thoroughly confused. I didn't know what to say, but like an idiot, I still tried. "Oh, well, I'm glad I'm different, then."

And then Alice leaned forward and rested her head against my shoulder, except I was still holding her ribs back, and wouldn't—couldn't—let her get any closer than that. She kept trying though, but I held out. I succeeded in keeping her a few inches away from chest, and it came at the price of having my own elbows jut out to the side.

We must've looked so fucking stupid.

The rest of the song was spent in silence. Alice was probably all dreamy and comfortable, while my skin was beginning to crawl. When the music started slowing down, when S Club 7 started wrapping up their ballad, Alice lifted her head. She drew her elbows around my neck again, and that was when it hit me how screwed I was.

She was sentimental. I could see it swimming in her eyes. Then she licked her lips, and I knew I was a goner. I had officially gotten myself in over my head.

"Look," I began to say, trying to think of anything to get her to stop looking at me like that.

"Sh," she whispered. And then god help me—her lips fucking puckered, and her face, which was already too close for comfort, zoomed in even more.

_Oh god, oh god_, I kept mentally chanting. I was so aware of every agonizing millisecond it took for her to launch herself at me, but it was happening too fast. I was going to be trapped.

Tonight, for the first and hopefully last time ever in my life, I, Bella Swan, was going to kiss a girl. And it really wasn't okay, because the girl I was kissing thought I was a boy.

Fuck my li—

"You_ stupid_ fucking SHIT!"

The distinctively male shout interrupted all thought, and out of reflex, I turned my head toward the noise just as Alice's lips suctioned on to the corner of my mouth.

Her face stayed glued to mine, almost desperately, as I watched Eric Yorkie swing a punch at Aaron Matthews' nose. When Aaron hollered in pain after Eric actually made solid contact, Alice finally broke away.

"What?" she asked.

"Fight!" kids started yelling. The DJ stopped the music. I looked down at Alice's startled face, and finally found the strength to push her away. "Hold on," I said, and then I started jogging toward the commotion.

A circle quickly formed—a circle always quickly forms whenever there's action. Over everyone's excited commentary I could hear Eric and Aaron shouting and swearing their heads off. When I finally got close enough I could see that Eric's suit jacket was gone, his bright Hawaiian shirt was ruffled, and he was completely owning Aaron Matthews—who was flailing while his neck was squished under Eric's armpit.

"STAND BACK!" I heard a male teacher bellow.

No one listened.

"Fucking you and Edward Cullen!" Eric was still shouting. "Fucking people like you! I can't fucking stand you! I hate you! You stupid shit!"

"Shut the fuck up cunt bag and let me go!" Aaron was yelling back. "And go fuck yourself, you whiny asshole! No one cares!"

A hand gripped my shoulder as I watched on in awe and stunned silence, and I was roughly forced to move back as a teacher stormed past me. I couldn't see anymore once I was pushed aside. I could hear scuffling and plenty of blame being placed.

"He's insane!" Aaron was shouting. "Literally crazy! I did nothing wrong!"

"Bullshit!" Eric yelled in reply. "You're full of bullshit!"

And then they were carried away towards the doors as more teachers swooped in, and the rest of us were left to gossip amongst ourselves. There were even a few kids holding their phones and cameras out, obviously having documented the event.

"Ben!" a voice called out my name. I started whipping my head around to search for its owner, and Emmett came into view immediately.

"Ben," he repeated. "What the fuck just happened?"

"I have no idea," I told him, watching Jasper as he came up behind Emmett. "I just saw Eric pin Aaron and they screamed at each other."

"Edward wasn't there?" Emmett asked.

"What?"

"We heard Edward's name," Jasper explained.

"Yeah, and we don't know where he is. We thought he was getting his ass kicked too."

I shook my head. "No, I have no idea where Edward is. He wasn't in the fight."

"Well shit," Emmett said, turning to Jasper. "What do we do?"

"Hell if I know. He's not answering his phone. All we can do is look for him."

All three of us stood and stared dumbly at each other for a second, but before we could make a move to find Edward, the DJ's voice came over the room again.

"Alright, ladies and gentleman, I've been told to inform you that the fun is officially over. Please make your way towards your vehicles and or bus and drive safely back to your respective schools. Goodnight everyone."

We stared stupidly again.

"Well," I chimed in, "do we look?"

Emmett scratched his head. "Uh yeah, I guess. Just move slowly, and look for his head."

Jasper and I nodded, and then we took our sweet time as we meandered towards the exit, letting other more excited students swerve around us.

But by the time we had made to the door, not one of us had spotted him. I saw Alice grouping up with her friends and leaving. Her head scanned the crowd, and I ducked behind Emmett, just in case.

Out in the hall, we all continued moving in one steady stream toward the main entrance. It was harder to look for Edward. I did see the Bree girl, or at least the back of her, as she ran to catch up with Alice.

Before we were ready, were standing in the parking lot, in front of Jasper's car, still looking around.

"He's not here," Jasper said.

"What?" Emmett asked.

"I don't see his car. Do you see his car?"

Emmett looked at the spot where we had parked earlier, and sure enough, it was empty. "He's gone," he muttered. "He must've gone back early."

"Well he missed all the excitement," Jasper said, smirking. "We'll have to fill him in, and then ask him why he took off." He turned to look at me, and grimaced. "I guess you need a ride, then?"

I nodded.

"Hop in," Jasper sighed, and we all scrambled into his car.

Emmett and Jasper seemed fine simply accepting that Edward had just left the dance early, and was most likely safe and sound back at his dorm at St. Bart's, but I couldn't stop the recent memory of our awkward collision in the hall, and worried that maybe it had something to do with his disappearance.

Where was Edward, really?

**

* * *

Edward's POV**

"Edward?" Bree said, bewildered.

I guess I did rush up to her a bit too fast without her noticing. I guess I had stepped into her personal bubble and got in her face. I guess I was a little too intense at the moment.

I took a deep breath.

"Edward?" Bree asked again, her eyebrows raising expectantly.

"Yeah," I said stupidly.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." I exhaled heavily. "Listen, you want to get out of here?"

"Wha—uh, what?" she stuttered.

I smiled. "Want to go somewhere? Explore the hotel?"

"Umm," she wavered.

I felt my lips curling, my stare becoming more intent as I begged her with my eyes to see that, right now, I really needed something from her.

"Okay," she agreed, smiling demurely back. "Where to?"

"I don't know. Just outta here. I need a break from all of this, I don't know about you."

"Yeah," she nodded immediately. "I need a break too."

"Great," I replied, reaching for her hand. She gave it, intertwining her fingers with mine. "Let's go."

**

* * *

Bella's POV**

Jasper wasn't going to drive me back to Chelmsford. I had a feeling he didn't want to, and even if he was going to be nice for the first time in his life and offer, I wouldn't let him.

So when we pulled into the lot behind the senior's dorm sometime after eleven, I didn't want to make it awkward. As soon as the engine was cut, I unbuckled myself and opened the door.

"Thanks for the ride," I said and jumped out of the car. I didn't wait for any sort of acknowledgment, and then began walking toward the bus stop.

Thank god it was Friday. Weekends meant that the bus route ran until two in the morning. And thank god that the bus wasn't a popular mode of transportation on weekend nights. It meant that it was on time and there weren't many people who rode it to get somewhere.

Tonight it was just me, a petite ginger girl who looked as if she just finished a waitressing shift, and a homeless person. Out of boredom I watched the girl as she hunched over in her seat as the bus drove away from the St. Bart's stop. She pulled out a nail file and began cleaning and trimming her nails. My eyes wandered over her entire form, and I couldn't get over how lean her body was, or how thin her arms seemed. Instinctively I looked down at my own body and sighed. Underneath everything I wrapped around myself everyday, I had gentle curves like this random girl did, and I suddenly couldn't wait until I was home, where I could take off my suit and wear pajamas that reminded me they were there.

Looking back up at the ginger girl, I saw that she had put her file away and how had a miniature sewing kit out, and was fixing a hole I couldn't see in the light jacket she wore. That was when I decided I had been creepy enough, letting my eyes bypass the homeless person's wobbly head as I looked out the window instead.

It was pitch black. There wasn't much I could make out, except for my own reflection, so I began playing with my hair to keep myself busy. I yanked on the short ends, tried pushing them in different directions to get them to stay that way. It didn't really work.

I spent a good amount of time also analyzing the lines and curves of my face, and decided that I could pass off as a pretty boy. . . to some. Hence why Alice fell instantly in love with me—why else would she go for it and attack me during a slow dance? I was hideously beautiful. I was closer to her height than a lot of the other guys there. I was oh so witty and unknowingly charming. All of those factors were a deadly combination. She couldn't resist. She didn't have a chance.

And now I had to avoid her for the rest of my life.

The misery of knowing that I couldn't really have any friends like Alice was pushed to the back burner as I noticed more things beyond my reflection in the bus window. Shabby store fronts were visible close to the street, illuminated by the grubby yellow lights of the streetlamps. We entered the center of Chelmsford, where the buildings were packed closer together, and before long, we came to my stop. I pulled the cord to tell the bus driver to slow, and then I was sparing one last glance at my fellow bus goers before I was making my way down the street and into the neighborhood where my house was.

The sounds of Chelmsford at night were similar to what they were during the day, or at least that was what experience had told me so far. An occasional shout, a dog barking, someone's television slightly audible due to an open window, and sirens.

I trudged along tiredly. It was nearly midnight—and therefore it was nearly my birthday, I had to remind myself. I began thinking of my rickety bed and the comfort it would bring me, and how my birthday would be spent blissfully doing nothing with Dad. I forced myself to walk faster, eager to get home sooner. No doubt Dad would be up and waiting for me, and despite my ease with living in the ghetto, I didn't particularly enjoy walking around late at night.

The more I walked the more I noticed a commotion in the distance. The sirens I heard after I got off the bus only got louder the closer I got to home. I started to entertain the idea that some drama was going down close to my duplex, and resigned myself to another awful night's sleep because of the noise.

But then I turned onto my street. And the lights of the sirens were visible, and the noise was louder, along with now perceivable cries of anguish. I walked faster, my curiosity propelling me.

The closer I got the more I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. Because the drama wasn't just on my street, it was at my _home_. And the fire engine that was attached to the sirens was spraying water at the window where _my room_ was located, and there was a flurry of activity surrounding a stretcher that was being carted off to an ambulance.

That was when I chose to recall my fear that I had seen my father for the last time as I drove away from him earlier in the night, and I didn't just speed walk to my house, I ran.


	15. The Breakdown?

**AN**: You know, it's really cool that they give you so much time to vote in the Giggle/Snort awards. I mean, when we elect our President, we only have one day to go put our ballot in. http : / gigglesnortawards . mmmboptastic . com

**Aletta:** This is your **warning**. Use your best judgement, my friend ;)

And more importantly, you guys _trust me_, right?

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Break(down?)**

**Edward's POV**

I pushed in my fingertips. Her breathing picked up. She may have even moaned. All I could concentrate on was the warmth and the slippery wetness, and how it was soft and hard and muscular all at the same time.

I immediately imagined the sensation of being able to put myself in all that, and I pulled back my hands to get rid of my pants, so I could free my stupid dick that got hard for the wrong things.

This was better. This was what I knew was right.

She was encouraging now that she thought I was in this for all the right reasons. She was keening and slightly desperate, and while it was an ego boost, it wasn't exactly what I wanted.

I just wanted in. I wanted it over with.

Pants can make a surprising amount of noise when they fall to the floor. That, or being naked in a place you definitely shouldn't be somehow makes you so much more sensitive to all other sound. Either way, the pants fell to the closet floor.

There was that definite chill that told me how naked I was in case I was somehow unaware, but my fingertips, which were still wedged between Bree's thighs, kept me warm; kept me distracted.

In short, I was on an expedition. I pushed in one whole finger. She sucked in a breath. I moved it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I felt myself rising.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, and extended her leg so that her foot rested on the bottom rung of a ladder.

I didn't answer verbally. Instead, I added another finger. She hissed. I got harder.

There was no way for me to be one hundred percent on this, no way to calculate the appropriate degree of arousal, but things certainly seemed wet enough down there.

"Okay," I breathed.

Her hands fell from my neck and shoulders and began unbuttoning and yanking my shirt away. Under the skirt of her dress, I hooked my fingers into her thong and pulled it down until she could kick it away herself. I then grabbed myself, and using my fingers and their current location as a guide, I lined myself up.

She was looking straight into my eyes. Straight into them, and nowhere else. I stared back—until I could see my own small reflection in her irises, that is, and then I closed my eyes, and kissed her again.

And then, all mechanics and navigational descriptions aside, I was in. And I mean _in_ in. My fingers slipped out and I slipped _in_. All the way in. I took my time, and then I got there, and I then I had to stop myself.

"_Whoa_."

I don't know who said it. I couldn't pay attention to words. I pulled away my lips, which had stayed attached to hers, and looked down at where we were doing it. And damn, just _damn_. And oh my god, I was actually doing it. It was actually happening.

"It's okay."

I pulled back and then pushed in and then oh my _fucking_ god—how do you describe this? It was too much. And I lost it.

Lost my shit, lost my cool—lost my cum, actually. It was over. I hadn't really begun, but crap she was tight. That was probably the only word that made sense—tight. Later, if I ever tried to tell someone about my first time, that would be what I always remembered the best, the most. It was _tight_, and I couldn't handle it.

I started feeling tired, exhausted, once I was completely finished, and I started coming back to myself. I started paying attention again, and I was able to pick up on Bree's breathing—how it was accented and loud. And she was looking at me again, looking incredulous.

"Uh," she panted disbelievingly. "Is that it?" She swallowed; I watched her throat constrict and was slammed by a sense of dread. "Does this mean that I'm still a virgin?"

I tilted my head back, looked up at the ceiling where the light was dangling, and pulled out.

Honestly, it took a couple of seconds. . . and then I heard her words.

_"Does this mean that I'm still a virgin?"_

_ "Is that _it_?"_

I was suddenly breathless, my chest tight. And looking down at my flaccid dick made me angry. _Really_ angry.

Then I looked at Bree, and she just looked so fucking stupid, with her wide eyes, mussed up hair, and red, pouty lips—like she was innocent or something; like I did something wrong.

And who fucking _says_ that? What the fuck does she know?

If I thought I was angry before I was livid now.

Who the fuck was she?

"Shut up," I said coldly. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Her mouth flapped. I didn't care. I was already stuffing myself back into my pants, already putting my shirt back on and throwing on my suit jacket.

"Listen," I began again, "don't even fucking bother. Don't talk to me."

I opened the door, and as some petty attempt to get back at her in some way, I flicked off the light and then slammed the door so hard it rattled. Storming away, I didn't want to get stuck seeing her come out of the closet. So I ran out to my car, not caring if anyone—peer, teacher, hotel employee—saw me disheveled. I waited until I was in my car, and then I fixed the buttons on my shirt. I even tucked it back into the waistband of my pants. I straightened my tie. I ran my hands through my hair.

And I bit my lip when I felt it start to quiver. And I gripped the steering wheel when my hands felt like they were going to shake. And even though I was sitting, when my legs felt like they were going to give out, I pressed down hard on the gas pedal, and sped away.


	16. Happy Birthday

**AN: **o hai ladiez! u liek mah storie? i can has reviewz? even though i has no updatez? i are humble. kthxbai.

Translation: Hey everyone. Sorry it takes so long for me to update. I really appreciate all your support so far—the number of people who've added this recently is insane to me. Thank you, thank you. I read every single review, even though I feel like I've been crap at responding to them. And I loved every single reaction to last chapter ;)

* * *

**Chapter 14: Happy Birthday **

"Dad!" I started shouting. "Dad! Charlie!"

A few of the firefighters who were standing on the edge of the sidewalk talking amongst themselves turned to look at me, but that was all I noticed. I was too concerned with the water hose aimed at my window, and I felt like I was dying when the doors to the back of the ambulance were shut.

"Dad!" I shouted again.

Completely panicked, I ran faster until I came to a skidded stop by the ambulance. Then I turned to look for someone to help me.

"Dad?" I called out, a bit quieter now that I was in the fray. I saw one of the firefighters from earlier jogging over to me and I waited nervously as the ambulance drove away and the firefighter approached.

"What's your name?" were the first words out of his mouth. He was tall and wide, and had a dirty face and sweaty upper lip, with his helmet pinched under his arm. As intimidated as I suddenly felt standing below him, I managed to say what I need to say.

"My name is Bella Swan. My dad's name is Charlie. He was supposed to be home tonight waiting up for me."

The firefighter nodded. "That him?" he asked, and then stepped aside, the pointer finger of his right arm aimed towards the back of the fire truck.

And I squinted and I squinted, and my eyes scanned around, and when I finally was able to pinpoint who the firefighter was pointing to, I suddenly felt like I was drained of all my energy.

"Yes," I replied, nodding. "That's him."

And it was him—Charlie Swan, standing on the street behind the fire truck, listening while another fireman spoke to him. I watched him, in his version of pajamas—a t-shirt and loose cotton pants, and even though I had registered that it was really my father standing there, it took him nodding his head to whatever was being said to him for me to start realizing that he was actually perfectly okay.

"It's okay, calm down," my fireman said gently. "Everything's alright. I'll walk you over to him."

I felt his hand on my upper back, pushing me forward, and I realized my shoulders were heaving with the breaths I was trying to take. I remembered the man's advice to calm down, and so I forced myself to take a deep breath. But it seemed that as soon as I exhaled, I began to cry.

Even though I tried to get myself under control, I was still a dribbling mess by the time I made it to Dad. And the look of relief he had on his face when he turned and saw me only made me dribble more.

"Bella!" he exclaimed. "Oh Bella, come here."

He held his arms open, and my arms lifted immediately wrapped themselves around his chest. I sobbed into him, and tried to absorb the fact that my dad's arms were also wrapping around me, and that he wasn't hurt at all. He wasn't even sitting down with a blanket around him and an oxygen mask against his face like in the stupid movies. He had been standing, just waiting.

"I was wondering when you were going to get here," he was saying softly into my hair. "I'm sorry you had to come home to this."

"No, no," I sobbed, even though I felt as if I were becoming calm. _"It's okay. You're okay,"_ I wanted to say, but I was having a little trouble forming the words.

"Of course I'm okay," I heard him chuckle lightly, and then I realized that maybe I wasn't having too much trouble at all.

With some effort, I took an even deeper breath than my sobs forced me to take, and this time it worked. My shaking shoulders slowed down, I could breathe more evenly, and then I was able to pull back and ask the question that was on my mind.

"What happened?"

I looked up at my dad, and he looked away as if he were kind of embarrassed. One of his arms lifted to scratch at his chin, and then he himself took a deep breath.

"Well, our neighbors, Pedro and Luisa, were having a night for themselves it seems, and had forgotten about some candles they had lit in their bedroom."

"Oh," I said quietly, not immediately understanding what he meant by 'a night for themselves'. But when I did, I felt myself blush as I rolled my eyes, because if anything was going to set a fire to my bedroom, it would be my over-sexed neighbors copulating again.

Once I fully realized that the person most important to me was safe, I tried my best to keep my eyes and ears wide open, so that I would know exactly what was going to happen to me and my dad from then on, but it was nearly impossible. I would often escape inside my own head as I imagined coming home to see my dad on the stretcher—which was morbid and not helpful, since it brought up images of mother on a stretcher and in hospital beds—and I never ended up listening to anything that anyone said.

I knew the gist of what had happened at that point, anyway. I didn't need to traumatize myself even more and listen to what belongings I may or may not still have.

Instead, Dad kept me tucked into his side, still in my rented suit and all, while he conversed with the men around him. A news crew even arrived once the fire was under control and took some footage of the damage and the people gathered to watch. I hid my face in my dad's armpit.

And then, before I knew it, my dad and I were getting a ride with a friend of his on the force, and my head was collapsing onto my chest.

I wouldn't know where I was when I woke up again.

**

* * *

Edward's POV**

The school was a blur on my left side as I drove past it.

I wasn't going back there. I couldn't go back there. What was I going to do? Try not to freak out in my empty dorm… then when my friends come back and ask where I went to, tell them that I fucked Bree in a closet after getting semi-hard over _Ben_, and then got completely emasculated when Bree asked if she's still a virgin?

Just—no.

So I kept driving to the one place I could get to without actively thinking about it. I could see the road I was on, could see street and traffic signs, but I obviously wasn't really looking at them. I was too much absorbed in my own head.

And it was really dark when I finally arrived at my house. There were no lights on in any of the windows. Opening the garage told me that my father's car was gone, and that made it easy to guess that my mother was probably with him.

I was relieved. I wanted to be able to crawl into my own bed in my own house, but not have to deal with my own family.

For the moment.

My bed sheets were a cool relief. I stripped down to my boxers and slid in between them and I just lay there, on my stomach.

I had a pounding headache. There was so much tension in my neck, tension that I was only realizing was there once I was motionless. It sucked.

But not as much as the night I had.

What did it mean? What did any of it mean?

Because before Ben I wasn't like this around other guys.

Or was it all nothing? Was it just a stupid, random reaction that meant absolutely nothing? Yet I had reacted in the worst way. I knew I used Bree afterwards, so I knew it meant something.

I suddenly remembered before the dance, talking to Ben in the courtyard and thinking that the way he acted around me and spoke about not having a date to Homecoming made him seem gay. But maybe I was only thinking that because I wanted to project my hidden feelings or whatever onto him. He was a hit with my stupid cousin at the dance, after all. She wanted to jump all over him. And I don't really know anything about who Ben really is anyway.

I am the massive idiot in this situation. I have screwed up so bad it's not even funny.

And then there's Bree, god damnit. _Bree._ I was still so mad at her, even though I messed up. Even though it was my fault, I hated her for saying the shit she said. Hated her for it so much that there was a bad taste in my mouth. If I wasn't lying on my stomach I might have felt the urge to throw up.

Thinking about the stupid linen closet made me feel dirty suddenly.

I lasted two fucking seconds. Two fucking seconds. I don't know why I was expecting differently. I just was.

And she didn't think it was worth anything! It was freaking sex even though it was a freaking nightmare!

_Is that _it_? Is _that_ it? _

Uh, yeah. That was fucking it. Was she expecting me to make her moan like a porn star?

And even though it sucked, that was my dick inside her. I don't know why that would mean her virginity was still intact.

What was she thinking? Why did she have to say that? It made me sick. And angry.

I hated her.

o o o o o o o

Closing my eyes didn't make any of it go away, though by the way I kept my eyes shut, it would seem that I thought that way. I slept a lot, and I still saw a lot, and I still felt everything—tenfold, actually. Thinking about it constantly was probably why.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. I woke up the next morning after I passed out in bed with half of my tux still on and stared at the ceiling for I don't know how long, just thinking. I took me a long time to realize that I hadn't moved, and that I probably should, just for the sake of it. It didn't seem normal to stay in my dress shirt and jacket, or hold in my piss any longer, or ignore my stomach rumbling, so I decided not to. But that still didn't mean I had to move right away.

It happened. I kept thinking that it was too crazy to happen. So it didn't really happen. That kind of crap never happens to me. But I constantly, _constantly_, saw Ben's open, exposed, crotch in my head. Just that part—after I had looked down after pushing down on his lap and realizing what I had done.

And let's not forget the look he had on his face, all shocked because he had just been accidently violated.

And it was hard! Let's also not forget that he was kind of hard! Probably from my cousin, of all people, and I touched it! I freaking pushed on it to get up. It happened. It really happened. And then I ran away.

That was probably the stupidest thing I had done at that point. I should have stayed. Played it off, joked about it. _"Whoops, sorry there, Ben. But you're not really packing much, are you?"_

Or how else would someone joke about it?

He wasn't really that impressive, if I thought about it. And I didn't want to think about it, but it was all I could think about. So yes, he was on the small side if I remembered correctly. Although I was so freaked out that I touched it that I couldn't really focus on the size of it.

Because, and let's face it, that was when I started to get hard.

Why? Why did _that_ happen? Why did it _have_ to happen? Could it have just been involuntary? It didn't _have_ to be because of Ben. It could have been any random number of things. Guys get hard all the time without triggers. That could have been the reason.

But I remembered feeling like my hand—my palm—was empty. Like Ben's dick was there, or still should have been there. And then I got hard.

And I really still can't understand why.

His face! Ben's face—he was surprised too. I wondered what he thought about all of it.

Ben would stare at me like a creep in gym. He would trip all over himself and he couldn't catch a ball to save his life. He could be annoying and so particular about some things that it was confusing. I remembered him clawing his balls and tearing his nipples off when he was late to gym that day. What had he been doing? He was so freaking weird sometimes. And he was all mocking about the idea of bringing a date.

So what else was I supposed to think? He mostly kept to himself. He had to be gay.

I just didn't think I might be too. Yet if all of my reactions to him were an indicator of how I really felt. . . and I didn't feel towards Bree any of the things I was starting to realize I was feeling towards Ben—things that probably caused me to get hard when I felt his thing. . .

The frustration, the concern, the. . . I don't know.

What was he thinking about me right now? What has he been thinking all along?

That was a deep, dark alley I was not ready to go down.

Then there was still Bree. I had to close my eyes again then; I had to squeeze them so tight my eyeballs hurt and I wouldn't see any of her when we were in that closet together. I hated those memories. I hated them the most.

It was like when I was a kid and I would eat all the extra frosting on my birthday cake just because I was a kid and I thought I could really handle it, but then afterwards my tongue would feel heavy and there would be this sugary film of frosting crap in my mouth. My breath would feel hot and disgusting, and then it would finally hit my intestines, and they would cramp and then I'd be nauseous.

Thinking of Bree made me feel that way the most.

I really didn't feel for her the same way I used to. She still followed me into that closet though. She still really liked me enough—she had to. I don't think I treated her all too well during the dance and she still went with me to find that random closet. She still made out with me. She still had sex with me.

Not that she thought it was sex. Not that she thought it counted.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot. _

Why did I have to prove anything to myself? Why was the word 'prove' and an image of Ben synonymous in my head? Why? Why did I have to take her in there? Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't it have been someone who would have at least acknowledged it was shitty sex, that it was a shitty situation?

She couldn't really like me enough anymore, not after the way I spoke to her afterwards.

I still hated her for that. Mostly because I was trying to prove something to myself, and a part of me knew she still really liked me, and another part thought that she'd think anything we did was wonderful, and that I was wonderful, and then maybe _I _would feel fricking wonderful.

But she obviously couldn't have known that. And she obviously thought it was so bad—

It hit me then: a realization. She thought it was so bad it couldn't have counted. She didn't want that experience. Not for her first time. So she unknowingly opened her mouth and shot down my abilities at the worst time.

Bree didn't know I was trying to prove my sexuality to myself, but she basically helped me decide that I didn't know what it was anymore.

For the first time, I felt guilt towards her.

I didn't end up getting out of bed after all. I rolled over, tugged off my jacket and dragged my shirt over my head, bunching them up and shoving them to the bottom of the bed underneath the sheets, and closed my eyes again.

The images were still there. The sick, frosting feeling was still strong, but my brain managed to shut down again. In the comfort of my bedroom, I was able to fall asleep again.

o o o o o o o

Let's face it. I never slept comfortably. When I woke up again my head was pounding from the position I ended up in, and my eyes were crusted shut, as if moisture had leaked out of my eyes while I dreamed up different scenarios between me and Bree, and me and Ben.

The whole dance was repeating on a constant loop now—and I mean the whole dance—from beginning to end. Every little thing I did or said I was now beginning to analyze. What could I have done differently? Why did any of it have to happen that way?

I wandered downstairs. The sun was setting. The house was quiet and it smelled strongly of air freshener, so I guessed that the cleaning lady had been around earlier. I crept along, and when it was really obvious that my parents still weren't around, I sagged over my living room couch in relief.

They weren't here.

But where were they?

I rolled over the back of the couch until I was lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling. I had only come in just last night and now it was the afternoon, so it didn't seem too strange that I hadn't seen my parents yet. They could have been anywhere, doing anything. They have lives, lives that don't revolve around their teenage son coming home and freaking out because he doesn't know himself anymore.

What would they say when they saw me? Other than the obvious "What are you doing here?" of course. Because I never came home randomly during the school year like this—alone, in the middle of the night. It was always discussed ahead of time. Always planned.

Without realizing it, my eyes had wandered over the portraits of the family that my mom kept around the living room on little round tables and mantles. They were all professionally done at various points throughout my life, so each one was perfect. In each portrait, I was dressed nicely, my hair combed over, my smile wide. In some, my parents were stationed behind me, each having a hand rest on my shoulder. They, too, were perfect.

My mother was even wearing pearls around her neck in a few.

And god—it hit me then, just how generic we were.

Yet the more I stared at just myself, the more I realized that everything that I was thinking now was going to completely mess that image up.

I didn't feel generic anymore. I felt disgusting and confused and really, really mad—at myself, at Bree, at Ben. . . for everything.

And then I wondered if my parents would be able to tell if something was up with me when they came home.

Was I transparent? Were the consequences of last night written all over my face? And if they were there, what the hell were they?

Did I need to analyze this further? Probably. My parents would come home, find me nearly catatonic on the couch—and I _wasn't_ going to analyze myself any further? But I didn't want to. I felt worse than shit, and thinking about it wasn't helping any.

Besides, I had to go back to school at some point tomorrow. I had to have at least something figured out so I wouldn't be weirded out around my friends. . .

My friends. . .

Should I start paying more attention to Jasper's bone structure? Emmett's muscle tone? If the both of them had. . . pretty eye colors? And if I did. . . and I. . . _liked_ what I saw—_then_ I had a problem? _Then_ I would have something to tell my parents? What would they think? Was I entering into some phase of my life that I needed to tell them about?

And what, exactly, would I tell them? How the hell does someone tell their parents _that_?

It was just one of those automatic things. You're a boy. You grow up as just one of the guys. You stare at girls. Eventually you talk to a few of them. You choose one to settle down with. That's just how it goes—or that was how it always went, to me.

My mom—I just instinctually knew that my mom always assumed I would marry a girl. I could picture her being incredibly disappointed if I didn't, and that made _me_ incredibly sad.

But Ben's lap. My hand was in Ben's lap. And my lap did its own thing.

And that _was_ it. That was all I had for Bree.

And if this was heading where I thought it was heading, how would I sit down in front of my mom and dad and tell them that they probably wouldn't ever have a daughter-in-law?

How would I do that? How does _anyone_ do that?

And those pictures just made us look so cookie-cutter. . . People like me didn't decide if they were going to check out their friends so they could figure out their sexuality. It just didn't happen.

Was it a random, subliminal, subconscious thing that finally came to surface? Was I finding something out about myself that I didn't know about before now that I had met the right person?

I just didn't know.

o o o o o o o

I stayed on the couch all day. I was hungry. I needed to shower, but I stayed on the couch all day. So it was easy for me to hear when the garage door lifted and a car engine shut off, before the door connecting the garage to the house opened.

Eventually, they came into the living room.

"But Carol already has one, so I don't know why she thinks Matt needs to go out and get her another," my mother was saying.

"I don't know, dear," Dad replied.

"Oh!" Mom gasped.

"What?"

"Edward? What are you doing here?"

I raised my head a little and smiled, ignoring the bewildered look she was giving me, before letting it drop back down onto the couch.

"Edward's here?" I heard my dad ask, his voice farther away now. "What is he doing here?"

"I don't know," my mom responded. "Didn't you just hear me ask him that myself?"

"Yes, but I didn't really think he was here. . ."

"Well, he is. Come look for yourself."

I didn't even hear his footsteps hit the rug of the living room, so before I knew it, my dad was standing in front of the couch, looking down at me.

His face was surprised when he saw me for himself. "Edward! You really are here!"

"Yes," I said. "Hello."

"Well, what are you doing home?"

"Do I have to have a reason?"

"No," he said calmly. "But I'm allowed to be curious."

I shrugged. "I decided I wanted to come home after the Homecoming dance last night."

"Oh," Dad remarked. "That was last night? How did it go?"

Mom walked over and lightly slapped him on the arm. "Can't you tell how it went? Look at him, Carlisle. He wouldn't be here if he had fun, he'd be back at school with his friends."

She looked at me sympathetically after talking about me like I wasn't there, and I sighed, because it was so typical of her and I was used to it. "How did it go, Edward?" she asked tenderly. "What happened?"

"I don't know," I replied automatically. "Nothing."

Suddenly, she was sitting by my feet on the other end of the couch. "Was there a girl involved?" she persisted.

"No, mom," I said. And in an attempt to keep annoyance at bay, I kept speaking quickly. "There was no _girl_," I mocked. "There's this new kid named Ben and he—"

I stopped myself.

"And he?" Mom repeated, her eyebrows raising expectantly.

"And nothing," I said, frustrated with myself.

"Did you get in a fight with this boy?"

I rolled my eyes, especially when I saw my dad begin to frown. "No," I said robotically. "I did not get in a fight with that boy."

"Then what happened?" Dad asked. Both of them were frowning now, their entire faces marred with confusion, and it made me even angrier than I already was.

"NOTHING!" I shouted, the entire room clouding over. "_Nothing_ happened! Okay? Listen to me!"

o o o o o o o

"Edward?" Mom was saying frantically. "Edward? What happened? What are you doing home?"

There was a hand patting my cheek, and I realized my eyes were screwed shut.

"Carlisle!" Mom's worried voice began shouting. "Carlisle! Come here! Edward's home and I think something is wrong with him! You need to come look at him!"

The pat on my cheek moved to my hair, and I felt her brushing it back away from my face.

"What, dear?" my dad's voice called back.

"Edward—there's something wrong with Edward!"

"Is the school on the phone?" I heard him ask, his voice, now worried also, a lot closer.

"No," Mom replied, her tone letting me know she was getting fed up.

"Oh," Dad said, his voice coming from right behind my head. "He's here."

"Yes, and he won't respond to me. He won't open his eyes. I think something's happened."s

"Well, let me look at him."

I could tell they were both fussing over me, their hands trying to lift my arms and check my pulse, or anything else they could do to try and get me to move. They kept trying to talk to me, too, to get me to respond verbally.

But I couldn't. Instead, I had to tune them out for a moment and just breathe. After a couple of seconds, I realized that I must have drifted off and dreamed up what would happen when they came home, what I would say. . .

And it had felt so real. . .

I finally opened my eyes, and both of my parents sat back a little in shock and relief, before my mom leaned forward again, furiously brushing my hair back. Her eyes darted back and forth rapidly between my own, before she asked. "Edward? Are you okay? Why are you home? What happened?"

Briefly, I closed my eyes again and swallowed, thinking about the scene I just imagined.

They would never understand, even if I understood my own thoughts and tried to explain, they would never understand. And I would never know how to tell them. So, until I had something to say, until I knew what was going on for certain, they would never know.

"Nothing," I responded hoarsely, and I realized I must've been asleep for longer than I thought. "Nothing happened. I just came home after the dance and crashed on the couch. . . I was up late," I lied. "I came home to bring some things back to school that I forgot."

It looked like she bought the lie, same with my dad. Mom's face brightened a little bit as my words soaked in. "You did? That's good. You can take back some of those vitamins I was telling you about now."

o

Yeah—there was no way I could explain to them the things going on in my head.

**

* * *

Bella's POV**

I looked down into the duffle bag one last time, checking to make sure I had everything I needed. There were my ace wraps, an—uh—_abundance_ of socks, and all the square and boxy looking boyish clothes I could find that I could wear on the weekends, right next to my school uniforms. On top of all of the cotton I had squished in there, was my toothbrush and some toothpaste. On the bottom, underneath all of the cotton, was where I had secretly stashed enough pads and tampons to get me through my next period.

I didn't have any razors, or face wash—though I did have deodorant that Dad was able to lend to me—because those items were distinctly pastel-colored girly items and would not belong anywhere inside the St. Bartholomew's School for Boys Senior Dormitory.

"It's only going to be for a couple of months," Dad was saying as I looked over my duffle bag for the eighth time. "You've done an excellent job so far. But I still want you to come stay here, with us, on the weekends. I don't want you pretending there for any longer than you need to be. Who knows what you'll put up with. Just keep to yourself, and you'll be fine. You have Gary's number, you have Mr. Voltrain's number, and you know you always have my number. Call me and tell me when to come get you. You could probably take the bus somewhere for us to meet up, if that'd be easier." He paused to take a breath. "It's going to be okay. It's only going to be a couple of months, and you've handled the first few weeks perfectly, I think."

Zipping the duffle closed, I twisted so that I could look over my shoulder to Dad. His hands were on his hips, and his worried eyes were glued to my bag. When he sensed that I was staring at him, he finally looked into my eyes, and we stayed locked that way, in silence, for a minute.

I was feeling incredibly numb. When I woke up this morning inside his friend's house, it took awhile for me and my dad to realize that Gary lived too far from any bus routes to the school, and that it would be awhile before the landlord's insurance company would fix the damages to our duplex.

Besides, Gary's house was small, and with his wife and two kids, it would have definitely been a tight squeeze to have me stay there, even if they could swing it.

And St. Bart's—St. Bart's move-in deadline was still wide open, and like Dad said, I had been doing such a good job so far. . .

I had been the one who had had to do the convincing at first, once we realized what our predicament was. I was the one who had to sit and argue why I could pull off living at the school—the only way that I could continue to go there, the only option that was open to us. I was the one who soothed Dad and told him it would be all right, even though my skin was crawling and I was nervous as fuck.

But now that I was packed, Dad was the one doing the talking. And I was silent, trying to deal with the cold hard acceptance of the situation.

We _had_ talked about pulling out of St. Bart's entirely, about whether or not living there full time was too much.

"But, but, the opportunity, Dad," I had said. "And what I've been able to do so far. . . I—it seems dumb to quit now. We can't pass up this school when I've already worked so hard to be there."

And he had actually looked into my eyes and agreed, wholeheartedly.

So now, even though I had accepted it, I knew I was fucked.

I was going to do everything I could to make sure everyone stayed away from the bottom of my duffle bag. Especially whatever kid I'd be rooming with, and _especially_ Jasper Whitlock.

And if I ended up rooming _with_ Jasper—well, that would be just fucking dandy.

"And Bella?" I heard my dad ask. I snapped myself out of my little Jasper-hate party to listen to him. "Shower in the afternoons."

"What?" I asked. My ability to perceive reason was already diminished by the weekend I had had, and so there was never any chance that that sentence would make sense, but I repeated it anyway. "Shower in the afternoons?"

"Yes, shower in the afternoons," he said, a little earnestly. "Everyone is either a night showerer or a morning showerer. You need to shower in the afternoons, when no one else showers, to be safe. And bring everything you need into the shower with you. You don't want anyone accidently discovering. . . _you know_," he mumbled.

"Right," I said flatly, trying not to think about anyone witnessing up close and personal why they had no need to freak out over my sock penis. "Good advice."

Dad smiled weakly, saying, "I try," before he pulled me into a hug.

"And Bella?" he asked again softly, after a moment of squeezing me a little longer than he had in several years, "Happy Birthday."

My eyes widened. I had forgotten, again, that I was now a year older with everything that had been going on.

_I am eighteen now,_ I thought randomly, _I am legally an adult. That lady can't kick me out of that porn shop now. _

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**AN: **Again, really sorry it's been so long. Now, you need to read of my appreciation for these three people, because I always forget to do this, and it's long overdue:

**Erin**, if I could sing you a song, I would, all about how wonderful you are and you're so funny and helpful and you were there before I had 900 reviews and you always have the best advice. Seriously, chapters never go out until they have the final Erin Stamp of Approval.

**MarchHare5**, you, my friend, are a blast to talk to you. I am in your debt x1000 for the emergency help I asked for this chapter. And I'm so glad you catch the things I don't.

**m81170**, let's be honest, this chapter might not have updated today if you didn't sit down with me and talk about it for so long. Your advice was insanely needed and I'm so glad I had it.

Now, because it's been forever (again, I'm sorry), I need to tell you I didn't win anything at the Giggle/Snort Awards, but there's no way that I could be bummed out about it, because the fact that my story even made up there to be voted on against all those other cool and funny stories is just insane and awesome. Thank you to everyone who nominated and voted, and who giggled or snorted.

And, last but not least, thank you to everyone who reads and reviews. You guys are like the peanut butter to my grape jelly... if that makes any sense.


	17. Moving In

**AN: Homeless. **Okay, did that catch your attention? Good. Because I was a homeless for a while a couple of weeks ago. That is just one reason why updating has been difficult for me lately. It's hard to update when you don't have internet. Or an electrical outlet to charge your computer. So I'm asking you to go easy on me this time, I usually don't gripe about my life here, but this time I thought I'd tell you for some sympathy in regards to updating.

I really love all your reviews, though, and of course, I am very sorry I was not able to reply to many of them this last time around.

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**Chapter 15: Moving In**

This was it. I had seen these buildings before, had walked past them many times, and now this was it. I was going to enter those buildings. One of them, specifically.

It was the one farthest away. It was artfully surrounded by stone benches and shrubs and mulching, and its gray brick surface matched that of the school. But it didn't look dreary for its lack of color. It looked intimidating—four stories tall, and massive, and modern, and full of boy.

Very, very intimidating.

Dad slowly pulled into the parking lot behind the senior's dorm. He turned the car off, and we just there in silence for a moment, staring at the glass door entrance.

"You've got your cell phone on you?" he asked, after several seconds.

I nodded.

"You didn't forget the charger for it?"

"No."

He huffed out a breath. "Well, then. No use in prolonging it, Bella."

I turned to look at my dad, who was watching me intently. My real name hung in the air between us, and without saying anything, we both acknowledged that I definitely wouldn't be hearing it too often anymore.

"Bye, Dad," I said, my voice sounding strange to my ears. "I'll call you."

"And you'll come home on the weekends," he added.

I nodded silently again, my right hand reaching out and opening my door. I stepped out and went around to the back seat, lifting my duffle and backpack out, and glanced one last time at my dad through the metal cage that cut his squad car in half. "See you," I called out, and started walking towards the building.

This was it. I think I seemed a lot braver than I felt.

o o o o o o o

"Hi, there!" this incredibly old, wrinkly, ancient man greeted cheerfully. "The kids call me Aro! I'm your Senior Housemaster, and I'll check you into your room today."

I think the folds around his eyes had folds, he was that old looking. And the curving folds around his smile were deep. I felt myself smiling back awkwardly just looking at him.

"Hi," I said, and then actually had to think before I spoke again, "I'm. . . Ben."

"Oh, I know who you are!" he said benevolently. "Let's get you to your room, shall we? Is that all you've got?"

I followed his pointed finger to my luggage. "Yup," I responded. "That's it."

"Well, that's not too much, is it?" He waved his arms forwards in dismissal of his own words. "But what am I talking about? They told me there was a fire at your place over the weekend. I'm sorry I forgot." His smile shrank into a thin, but caring, line as he nodded once. "Right. Let's go."

Taken aback just by Aro's sheer outward personality, I followed him quietly to the third floor. He led me to the end of the hall and into a room. . . that was completely empty.

"The other young man that lived here moved out yesterday," Aro explained, his voice echoing slightly due to the lack of anything sound-absorbing. "So you have the place to yourself! Isn't that nice? Don't have too much fun, though," he winked at me.

"Uh," I stammered slightly. "I won't."

Aro continued to talk at me, explaining the rules of the dorm, and his role as supervisor of the students. Aro covered the third and fourth floors. His assistant, Marcus, another old geezer like himself, he told me, watched over the first and second floors.

I filled out the necessary paperwork as he continued his explanations of resident life at the school. Was I aware of the multiple clubs available, some specifically through the dormitory? Not really. Did I know that some of those clubs planned fun things for all the kids to do, like the Homecoming, to get us together? No. Was I interested in joining one of them, or at the least, in going to a meeting to see what they were about? Not exactly.

Remaining as polite as I possibly could, I answered each question he seemed scripted to throw at me. He also seemed to really love the school and care about his job, and while that was all fine and dandy, I couldn't really stop my mind from racing.

Was my voice still convincingly low enough?

Was I walking like a guy? Did I exude manliness in my posture?

Aro didn't think there was anything off with me, did he?

And the numbers—the numbers began racing through my head, too. There were approximately eight hundred boys at this school from all over. That meant that there had to be around two hundred kids in each grade, if they contained about the same amount of students in each graduating class, and I couldn't see why they wouldn't. And of however many of those two hundred in my own graduating class that lived on campus—which, according to Aro, sounded like everybody—about fifty kids must live on each floor. And that. . . . that meant that Aro and his assistant Marcus supervised around one hundred kids each.

As I stared blankly around the empty room I was going to be staying in, vaguely paying attention to the gentle unfolding and refolding of his wrinkles as he spoke, I wondered, would I stand out to Aro, my Housemaster? If I slipped up, if the toilets on my floor refused to flush another tampon or something of that sort, would it stand out to him if I wasn't able to take care of it right away? Would he notice, after having supervised me awhile, that my voice wasn't as deep as it should be? That my build, despite all the Ace wraps, wasn't like the other boys'?

I hoped that one hundred kids was enough for me to eventually fade into the background.

o o o o o o o

After Aro had left, in the cheerful, energetic, scatterbrained way that only people as old as he can accomplish, I set about my room, putting things away.

It didn't take me long. I didn't have much. Once my clothes were tucked away in the closet dresser, and the school books and various notebooks placed on the desk, I had nothing more to do. So I sat on my bed, which didn't have any blankets or pillows yet, and just stared about the room.

It was sterile and empty still, despite the fact that I had stuff in it now. And I couldn't help but wonder why it was empty, and wasn't able to answer myself as to why I didn't have a roommate; I had been too focused on the assumption that I would definitely have one to think about what would happen, what it would be like, if it turned out that I wouldn't have to share a room.

It was also completely and unexcitingly symmetrical. Once you walked through the door, everything that you could see on the left was mirrored on the right, from the desk that was close to the entrance, followed by the long twin bed up against the wall, to the closet door at the foot of the bed. From my position on my bed, I stuck out my legs and determined that the room was wide enough for my toes to not touch the opposite bed. The space between the two closets was even wider, then, with enough space for there to be a TV stand and possibly a chair or something for someone to sit in and relax or watch the TV.

After some consideration, the room seemed more nice and clean and rectangular, instead of unexciting, empty, and sterile. In fact, I realized I liked it a lot, even though that sleeping here meant I was basically sleeping in the middle of the lion's den, so to speak. There was no peeling wallpaper, the temperature was normal, and Pedro and Luisa Almeida would not be having sex or setting anything on fire near me for a good long while.

Yes, with those things in mind, I decided my new dorm was pretty fricking decent, and got up to go find Aro again, and see about getting myself some sheets and a pillow for my bed.

o o o o o o o

I was more prepared the second time I went to find Aro. I had sat alone and contemplated my situation, and when I felt more settled and less trapped, I went and found Aro again, because there were some things the guy forgot to help me with.

I wondered, while I had that time to myself, why such an old man was watching over so many kids—kids so much younger and crazier and all that. I wondered how much they got away with when Aro's arthritis held him back—assuming he had arthritis. But he's fucking old; it's to be expected.

He was sitting in his little apartment that was on our floor, the third floor, writing something down at his desk; most likely more stuff having to do with all that crap he had me sign earlier: Was this desk or whatever already damaged when you moved in? Did all the locks and windows open correctly? etc.

My knock on the doorjamb was ignored. I stood and waited for a delayed reaction, but after a couple of seconds that made me feel increasingly creepy standing there watching the guy without him noticing, I decided more noise was definitely in order. My throat cleared, I might have coughed a little, and my knuckles were more insistent. And this time, his head finally jerked around, almost in surprise, even though I felt like I had been standing there for quite some time already.

"Mr. Cheney!" he exclaimed welcomingly. "Back again, are we?"

"Uh, yes, sir," I began. I shifted a little. I had entered determined not to forget to mention any of the things I needed, but his personality was still strong enough to throw me off, even though his body looked like it was ready to crumble.

"Well, what can I help you with?"

"Um, sheets. For my bed. I need sheets for my bed. I forgot to ask about them before."

His eyes crinkled in thought. "You didn't bring any?"

I could feel my face heating, embarrassed even though the entire situation was out of my control. "Yes. Well, the fire was basically right over my bedroom, and most of my stuff was damaged, and I guess we just kind of forgot that I'd need that kind of thing with everything else going on, and—"

"Huh?" Aro broke in. "Say that again, son? Sorry, I didn't catch that. You didn't think you'd need bed sheets?"

I felt even hotter now. "No, uh. . . Um, the fire was right beside my bedroom," I said, slowly simplifying, more volubly than before. "My own sheets were basically ruined. I forgot to buy new ones."

The thought vaguely entered my mind that we might not have been able to afford nice ones.

"Oh!" Aro said, some of his wrinkles smoothing out with clarity, others deepening as his eyebrows raised. "Of course! No problem, Ben. We have some here. We keep them for the kids that come and stay for overnights, checking out the school to see if they really want to come here." He winked, clearly commenting with his eyes that it wasn't too difficult for someone to decide if they'd want to go to St. Bart's. "I can definitely give you some bed sheets for you to use as long as you'd like. We have plenty enough here."

He started walking as he spoke, and I followed him silently to a storage closet of sorts. I didn't try to walk in after him, but from what I could see, "plenty enough" seemed an understatement.

The sheets he handed me were a dull, light blue. Standard enough, and subtly masculine. Perfect, in other words. I was sure if I had tried to buy some on my own, I might have tried to come in with rocket ships and aliens printed on them. I looked up from the bundle of sheets, which helpfully included a duvet, and felt stupid (for some odd reason) for asking my next question.

"Um, do you have pillows, too?"

"Pillows?" Aro repeated, his eyes squinting. "Oh, of course! Of course we have pillows. You need those too?"

I nodded, which was kind of unnecessary, because he had disappeared back inside the closet before he could see it. He returned, carrying a good-sized pillow, along with a pillowcase that was of the same color as the sheets.

"Thank you," I said immediately, remembering my manners.

He smiled kindly. "You're welcome. Is that all you need?"

He clasped his hands together in anticipation of any more requests.

"I just have a question. Well, two actually."

"Shoot."

"Can you tell me who used to live in my room?"

"Oh—ah, no," he said apologetically. "The young man still goes to school here, he just doesn't live in the dorms anymore."

I nodded to myself, realizing I would have to figure out what male gossip was and use to find out what I wanted to know, and then asked the next—and at the moment, the most important—question.

"Where do we eat? We don't go to the cafeteria for dinner, do we?"

He laughed, chuckling deeply for a moment before he spoke. "No! No, you don't go to the cafeteria. I'm sorry, this should have been the first thing I mentioned when you came in!" He smiled beatifically. "No, there's what we call a dining hall on the first floor. Behind the lobby there's a common room with a TV and some couches, and there's two doors in that room. One leads to a small kitchen where kids can microwave things and such, and the other leads to. . . ah, I guess you could call it a cafeteria. But it's here in the dorm. It's open in the morning before school and sometime into the morning after classes start—I forget the hours at the moment—and it's open for dinner, from five-thirty to nine p.m. It's open more on the weekends too, obviously."

"Oh, okay," I said stupidly, taking in the information, glad that I didn't have to walk into the cafeteria. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Ben. Come to me anytime when you have questions."

With one last kind old man smile and a nod, he walked back off to his own room, and left me to head back to mine.

**

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Edward**

Half-hearted was probably a good way to describe how I felt going back to school on Sunday. Reluctant, restless, anxious would work. Tired, too. I still had some anger simmering, but it was slowly getting buried under an intense feeling of shame. I planned only to go back to my room, kick Emmett out, and lock the door. It was usually nearly impossible in the dorm, but I _would_ find a way to be alone.

Alone, alone, alone.

I really wished my parents were coddlers; the kind that would let me stay home and do whatever if I even whined about a sore tooth. But they weren't. They were firm, especially about grades, and so I really had no choice but to go back to school, unless I wanted to disappear for a day or two to get myself together. . . live in my car, possibly. But that didn't seem like such a smart idea.

I arrived late in the afternoon, parking in the seniors' lot slowly, with a deep sense of resignation I wasn't really going to be able to catch a break. Not while I was surrounded by so many people, and certainly not while I still had to deal with Ben in gym.

And thank God it was only gym.

Aro wasn't in his room when I passed it, but his door was open. It wasn't all that strange, but usually he was a stickler about people shutting and locking their doors after themselves, especially after Aaron Matthews decided he could break into my room whenever he wanted…

Aaron, I saw as I passed his room next, also had his door open. Mike Newton was standing inside, and they were gossiping about something together, as usual.

My own door, unfortunately, happened to be beside Aaron's, and so I got to hear his conversation while I searched for my room key.

"Where did he go?" Mike was asking.

"I don't know," Aaron responded. "But he's definitely gone."

"So he's not going to be in school anymore? Or is he just out of the dorm?"

"Don't know that either. His parents just came this morning and helped him bring all of his shit out. I hope he's not in school with us anymore."

"You're telling me."

"You can't attack people like that and not expect anything to happen to you. He _should_ be gone."

Mike snorted in agreement, and then I was inside my room, and couldn't hear anymore. I had no idea what it was about, but it was easy enough to guess that Aaron had probably tripped over his own feet at Homecoming and claimed someone pushed him, and even went as far as to get the person in trouble for it.

What else was new?

o o o o o o o

"Hey! You're back!"

Emmett was sprawled out on his bed, slightly reclined on smashed up pillows, with his laptop on his chest as he watched something. He jerked upright when I came in.

"Yup," I replied blandly. "Get out."

"Where'd you go? You fucking disappeared. We had no idea what happened—and way to answer your cell phone, asshole. We thought you died."

"Oh."

I was becoming more aware that my entire side of the room looked like a tornado had come through it. I finished putting my bag away in my closet and then stared at the mess some more.

"What happened to my bed? My desk?"

"You were dead, and last we knew, you had the beer on you. Still, we thought we'd double check to see if you stashed it in the room before you took off."

"So you ripped through all of my stuff. . . to look for alcohol. . . even though you were convinced I was dead?" I asked. I definitely wasn't amused. I wasn't angry somehow either. . . I just _was_.

"Well, not convinced. And you wouldn't answer your phone. Your shit was fair game by Saturday night."

I closed my eyes in defeat. "Whatever. Just get out."

"What?"

I heard him shuffling around, closing his laptop shut and ruffling around my desk.

"Where's the beer? You made me go get it—in the middle of the ghetto, no less—now, where is it?"

"In my car, where else?" I said, feeling my teeth clench. "Just get out now."

"That's the fifth time you've said that," Emmett remarked.

"I know. Get out."

I sighed one last time, once the last word was out, and then I shut down. As if I suddenly sank under water like dead weight, I could hear Emmett trying to speak to me some more, but I didn't have any immediate short-term memory left to recall what it was, and respond.

I checked out of my own body. Fairly quickly. And it was nice.

o o o o o o o

When I woke up, my alarm clock told me it was eleven p.m. I sat up groggily, feeling uncomfortable and scratchy after sleeping in my jeans, and tried to focus.

It was late. I missed dinner hours, but I wasn't hungry. I blinked hard several times, and then waited until I could see better in the dark. Scanning the room, I noticed that the lump where Emmett's body should've been was missing from his bed.

So he had finally left, however long ago, and hadn't come back.

I wasn't really concerned.

After a minute or two of staring at the window shade, I realized I felt like a used and sweaty gym sock, and that I really wanted to clean up before I passed out again, and definitely before I had to step back into the school tomorrow. I dug around in the dark for a towel, pajamas, and shower caddy, not bothering to put the light on. And after rooting around the cavernous shadows of my room, I was out in the luminous hallway, with the bright lights that were always turned on, and currently making me blind.

The bathroom wasn't too far away, just a few doors down the hall. It was pretty large and spacious, with the shower stalls being the only aspect of it tucked away in a little hall. It was pretty easy to tell if someone else was in there, and with it being as late as it was, I wasn't expecting to be bothered by anybody.

Which is exactly why I nearly jumped out of my skin when I was proved wrong.

I skidded backwards into the door behind me when I saw him, over by the sinks, struggling to keep his clothes tucked under an arm while his hands wrestled with a huge—and I mean _huge_—tangle of. . . something.

_Ace wraps?_

Ben didn't notice me at first, seeing as it seemed he was fighting for his life to keep a hold on to his things and straighten out his mass of bandaging. But when he did, it was only because I cleared my throat, getting ready to turn around just say "Screw it" to being clean.

He did a double take, not too troubled by the fact that I had entered the bathroom. His head came up once quickly, not really seeing me. I think he even tried to smile in greeting before he was pulled back down to his task. The second time his head came up was much quicker, and that time, it was apparent that something was suddenly wrong.

My hand subconsciously reached for the handle at my back.

"Uh. . . hi!" Ben said. His arms began scrambling, drawing up all of his excess whatever to his chest; his forearms pinning it there as he straightened.

Instead of feeling nothing, or telling him to get out like I did with Emmett, or instructing him to stay the hell away from me like I suddenly wanted to, I stared at his torso where his Ace wraps, and now day clothes, were bunched up.

"Sorry," Ben was rambling, attempting to side step around me to the only exit out of here. "I'm, uh, leaving now."

"What happened?" I asked, eyes still trained on all of the. . . accessories? he had.

"What?"

"Those bandages—did you hurt yourself?"

Ben's eyed widened dangerously. "No. No, I didn't," he said in an odd tone. "Uh, goodnight."

He stepped forward, in a rush, very clumsily. He came within a hair's breadth of me; too close for comfort, actually. I had quick mental flashbacks to a hotel hallway, obnoxious plants that got in the way, and a carpeted patterned floor.

I jerked away, taking a quick step back, feeling shivers run down my shoulders.

And when I looked up, he was gone.

But what was he _doing_ here? Late at night? In the dorms? In his pajamas? When he lives at a safe distance from me, in Chelmsford?


	18. Beginning of the Dorm Days

**AN:** I'm really sorry... I'm not going to be replying to reviews for a little while. My life is a tornado. I really do read everyone and love each one. Thank you for putting up with me.

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**Chapter 16: Beginning of the Dorm Days **

**Bella**

I think I was in a daze.

And khaki really wasn't my color—that was what I could process, as I thought about the uniform I had to wear. I felt washed out, like I was blending together and was becoming this indistinct blob of a person. It was my first night in the dorms, and I had a dream that I had really long hair; the longest hair you've ever seen. Rapunzel had nothing on me. But it was manageable, and smooth, and there were no split ends. I couldn't remember too much of the dream in the morning, but I knew that everyone I came across was jealous of it. It was just so wavy and long. And shiny. Like a freaking hair model's in a Pantene commercial.

I felt like I woke up with a smile on my lips, and went to absentmindedly tug my hand through my hair in that sleepy way that told me I didn't really know what I was doing yet, because I wasn't fully awake.

Needless to say, I didn't have any fucking hair for my hand to run through. I had opened my eyes, steadily looking around the room. I knew where I was; I had felt like I had woken up too many times in the beginning of the night just reminding myself that I was in a new place, and that I shouldn't forget it in the morning. But seeing it in the early morning daylight still felt strange.

I felt strange, indistinct.

o o o o o o o

I think Aaron Matthews liked to think of himself as the dorm's very own student welcome wagon. He was leaning up against the door across from my own as if he were a casual observer on the sidelines of a football game. He eyed me with some level of concealed interest, and I thought I was going to reenter my room in peace.

But then he spoke.

"Enjoy brushing your teeth?"

I stopped myself from opening my door and looked briefly over my shoulder. We were the only ones hanging around out in the hallway. Even if he hadn't strictly addressed me by name, he was unfortunately talking to me.

I turned halfway around, reluctant to have a conversation.

"Yeah," I replied lamely. I looked down at the plain toothbrush and toothpaste in my hand and wondering if he was trying to point out that I hadn't done much by way of getting ready for school in the bathroom. But I didn't have anything else, and I didn't know why it would concern Aaron anyway. I wasn't going to bring fucking Aveeno in there to wash my face.

"So you're taking over Yorkie's room?" he said, one of his eyebrows lifting.

I cast a glance at my closed door, the name Aaron mentioning simultaneously answering one question and sparking a dozen others.

"Yorkie's room?" I questioned.

"Yeah," Aaron said, sounding slightly surprised I didn't know this yet. "You were at the dance; did you see the fight that broke out?"

I nodded, my mind numbing as my thoughts drifted to the very end of that night.

"Well, there you go," he said condescendingly. "He's gone because of it."

"Gone?" I repeated dumbly, glancing at the door again, thinking about the empty half.

"Yep. Gone. He attacked me."

I knew this, obviously. That attack actually saved my life because it stopped Alice from sucking my face.

"Oh."

I kept staring at the floor now, seeing Edward's stunned face and flashing sirens and Hawaiian shirts.

"So you're here now?" Aaron continued. I looked at him, wondering why he was really still talking to me.

"Yep."

"Why?" He crossed his arms across his chest. He was very straightforward, and I didn't like it.

So I shrugged. "Oh, you know. . ."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for an actual answer.

I shrugged again, opened my door, stepped inside, and finally closed it on him.

Maybe I should've thought about rehearsed answers to that question, but I knew I wouldn't have any even if I tried. I leaned heavily against the door at my back and stared at my room, my depressing sanctuary of a room.

It used to be Eric Yorkie's. Curiosity? Piqued, and definitely a nice distraction.

o o o o o o o

Even though I hadn't had a lot of time getting used to my schedule of getting on the bus and traveling around forty minutes to get to school, it was already pretty ingrained. I still anticipated needing plenty of time to get to Morning Prayer, time in my morning that could now be better spent doing other things like sleeping, I was discovering.

I was really early to Morning Prayer. There weren't too many people around. Just the teachers sitting in their chairs near the edges of the pews, discreetly checking to see who was here and who wasn't. A couple of singular students were slouched down in random places; a few friends were sitting together whispering quietly, groggily.

I figured that most everyone was still in the dining area on the first floor of their dorm, eating breakfast. I wasn't hungry though.

One pew towards the back of the central area looked really appealing. I could see myself slouching down in it and easily tuning out the morning lecture from the uptight priest. I headed towards it.

"Ben," a voice whispered. Or, at least I thought that was what was whispered. I wasn't sure; I kept making my way towards my self-designated pew.

"Ben," came the whisper again, hissed this time.

I stopped walking and looked around. I was technically Ben, I reminded myself. And though I didn't exactly have a million friends, it wasn't impossible for someone to call after me.

In fact, once I smartened up and took a second to look, it wasn't unusual at all for the person whispering my name to get my attention.

I changed my direction, heading for his pew instead of the one I had been eyeballing.

"Hey. What?" I whispered back. It wasn't until I was sitting beside him that he looked at me again.

Eric Yorkie and I were a part of some weird Outsiders club. We were outcasts, but not really friends, and we tended to hang around one another in silence, just for the sake of having some sort of social solidarity in another's presence. It made no sense, but then again, I was figuring out that guys never did.

I didn't want to be talking to Eric Yorkie on a regular basis anyway. His warnings to me about other people at this school were a warning in themselves: Yorkie was kind of crazy.

"I heard you moved in," he said under his breath once I had finished shuffling in beside him.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I did."

He twisted towards me, flinging one arm over the pew behind us. "Why?"

Eric's voice was even more gravelly when he spoke in a lower tone. I tried not to blush about it when I realized how attractive it sounded, and ended up gushing out the truth.

"My house burned down over the weekend. I didn't really have anywhere else to stay close by, so I moved in."

He nodded thoughtfully, not sympathetically like a normal person might've.

"I hear you're in my room."

I stared at him blankly. _Where or who, exactly, was he hearing that from?_

"Yeah," I affirmed, again.

He brought both hands into his lap and started fucking around with his nails, his voice attempting to be even quieter, trying to get low enough to touch the ground as he spoke, and I felt myself leaning in, trying to catch every crazy drop of his words.

"Listen, I just thought you should know, this school is broke."

"What?"

"They don't have any money."

"_What?_" Every muscle in my face was frowning, trying to understand what the hell he was saying and why he was saying it.

"It's not that complicated. The administrators, and I'm pretty sure Rogers too, have been rubbing up against anyone with money to fund the school."

"Why?" I heard myself say, when I was pretty certain I wanted to ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

"We're in an economic downturn, Ben," Eric said drolly, rolling his eyes. "And everyone here is out for blood. I'm broke. I don't know if I'll be going to school here for much longer, but I thought you should have a heads up."

More people were coming in and sitting down around us. I looked up just in time to see Edward walking towards us, getting into the pew behind Eric and myself. I stared at him, begging him with my eyes to look at me and get me away from this kid, but Edward never looked back.

I was stuck whispering with Eric about nonsense, nonsense that I began to worry about being true, until Morning Prayer officially started. And for the first time, I wished gym class would just come already.

**

* * *

Edward**

I thought that my eyes must have been tricking me. They just had to have been. There was no way I saw Ben in the bathrooms last night. It was late. I was tired, and so emotionally worn out. And it felt like he had just disappeared, so it couldn't have been real.

Therefore, this nametag I was staring at? It was also fake. Not real. My eyes were playing a trick on me, or someone put it there to be weird.

It was the door to Eric Yorkie's room after all. It would not surprise me if Eric Yorkie took his nametag off his own door and put up a different one—a.k.a. Ben Cheney's, the only other friend he really had at this school.

Thus, I came to the sensible conclusion that Ben Cheney was not living at St. Bart's. I _knew_ he wasn't living here. He had told me himself about his dad needing him at home or something. He wouldn't leave his dad to be here.

That was not Ben Cheney in the bathroom last night. I was talking to myself. I was safe.

I turned away from Yorkie's stupid prank and kept walking down towards the bathroom, blind to the inspirational and informational posters plastered all over the walls that were meant to grab a student's attention. Focused solely on the bathroom where I hallucinated last night, I almost walked right past it. But there it was, and I did not end up missing the entrance.

The entrance. Which had the standard outline of a man: a head, two arms, rectangular body, and two legs, with the words "Men Only" underneath. Pretty ironic, I thought, since only men went to the school; no women around to heed the warning.

I went around and did my business robotically. When I finished, and the bathroom door had swung shut behind me, I felt myself release a very deep breath, and realized for the first time that I had been holding onto it all morning, only taking in the minimal amount of oxygen to keep me from passing out.

Pushing another deep breath out, I forced myself to truly relax. There was nothing really wrong after all. Emmett had picked up on my foul mood and was staying away. No one else knew anything, except possibly for a small group of gossiping girls. But their news wouldn't spread to here. It was too far, too horrible; not even Bree would want more than just her closest friends knowing.

It was bad, really bad, but not many knew. I was getting my space. I would get over it, eventually. Eventually I would stop thinking about it all the time. Eventually my stomach would stop twisting at the random images that would pop up in my head. Eventually I would stop imagining slamming Bree and Ben in the head with a two by four. Eventually I would stop wanting to slam myself in the head with a two by four.

It would be okay. I would get over it. Some recluse-like behavior, and I would slowly return to myself, I was certain.

Before I knew it, my bag was slung over my shoulders, and I was almost at the cathedral for Morning Prayer, a.k.a. Bible class. I kept having that dazed feeling of someone who had completed the long drive home and had no recollection of it. I had made this trip down to Morning Prayer so often that it was automatic. My head could be anywhere, and I would still get to where I needed to go at this school.

I was safe.

Except that I wasn't. Not really.

Jasper and Emmett had chosen to sit in the pew behind Ben Cheney and Eric Yorkie, who looked like they were having an intense discussion. I could have cared less. All I needed was one look at that face to know that it was in fact Ben's, and then I wasn't looking anymore. My eyes were trained on the aisle in front of me, on the tops of Emmett's and Jasper's heads, even on Aaron Matthews several rows behind.

I guessed it was the settling of the weird shit that had passed between us over the weekend at Homecoming that made me feel like I had some sort of new twist in my connection with Ben Cheney. Even with resolutely refusing to look at him, I could feel him there. Without seeing his eyes shift to look at me, I knew they had. It was uncomfortable, at the very least. And again, I was safe, but I wasn't. Not as long as even one person served as a reminder of my weekend.

I made it through Morning Prayer through sheer force of will. I was certain that Ben had tried looking over his shoulder at me, possibly to talk, possibly to keep up his reputation as a creepy starer. Either way, I ignored him. I ignored everything; Jasper, Emmett, the itch on my nose. Everything. I didn't move a muscle.

Of course, it wasn't that comfortable, but I was never very comfortable to begin with.

o o o o o o o

I was really beginning to believe that nothing in life was fair. Nothing. Not even voting. Not even splitting a cookie evenly into halves to share it with someone.

I hated coming across as a teenage girl, like my cousin Alice, who would throw a hissy fit and claim that life wasn't fair when my aunt and uncle refused to pay for gas for her car. But it was the truth. My life wasn't fair.

How could it be, when I was forced to be partners with Ben Cheney in gym?

It seemed that this week we were no longer playing football. No, we were moving on to bigger and better things, according to Mr. Cohn, the near-retirement teacher, who could care less about anything.

"I want to partner up with Emmett," I said again, because the first time those words came out of my mouth, Cohn pretended not to hear.

"What's wrong with Mr. Cheney?" he replied, frowning in the opposite direction, most likely where Ben was located.

"Nothing. I just don't have the patience to deal with him today," I said honestly, letting my tone imply that I didn't have patience for his awful athletic ability. "I'd rather be partners with Emmett."

Cohn began nodding, almost condescendingly. "Well, Edward, you can't always get what you want. I know Mr. Cheney's not the best at. . . anything, but that's not a reason to not be partners with him."

"But—"

"Let me put it this way, it'll affect your participation grade if you don't work with everyone in the class, Mr. Cheney included."

I shut my mouth. I had no other argument that didn't further make me out to be an arrogant asshole, except for the truth, and the truth was never going to be spoken aloud. Not by me.

I shuffled angrily back over to where my partner was waiting for me with our supplies of the day in hand: two badminton rackets and a shuttlecock.

I couldn't wait.

"Badminton," Ben said as I approached, waving the items in his hand in demonstration. "Fun, huh?"

Not able to bring myself to be sarcastic with him, I grunted in response. Let him make of it what he would; I didn't want to be his partner. I couldn't.

After receiving some instructions on what type of things we should practice with our partners, each group of students spread out across the shiny linoleum floor of the gym. Ben handed off a racket to me, and I focused more on blinding myself in the reflection of the overheard lighting coming off the floor than on whom I would have to look at to participate, mentally preparing myself to be as detached as possible.

It wasn't easy. Ben was uncoordinated and slightly gangly; every aim of his sent the shuttlecock off at the most awkward angles. I spent a lot of time running to our shuttlecock so that it would stay in play, and in those moments where I waited for Ben to figure out how to serve, I spent my time glaring at him for not making gym easier.

When those fifteen minutes were over, which were close to being some of the most painful minutes in my short life, the class was given the direction for groups of partners to face off against each other.

We shoved off along the walls, watching Cohn and a couple of other hand selected students set up where our badminton courts would be within the gym. And in this moment of downtime, Ben decided to talk.

"So," he began, looking at his feet as he shifted them around, "how was the rest of your weekend?"

I watched him out of the corner of my eye and shrugged.

"Yeah. . . " He stared off in the empty space in front of him, momentarily lost in thought.

I had a couple of seconds in silent reprieve, and then Ben came out of it, swiveling his head around to look at me. "Where'd you go at the end of the dance? You disappeared."

I shrugged and looked in the opposite direction, trying to send a message. "Nowhere," I added dully.

"Oh," he said quietly, and I suddenly felt my hopes rising, thinking that maybe he was getting the message.

But then he fake coughed, like he was trying to clear his throat.

"Your cousin and her friends are nice."

_Crap,_ was all I could think. Was there no way to get him to stop? I grunted again, or made some sort of guttural noise that constituted as a response. I began staring down Cohn and my classmates, willing them with the sheer force of my eyeballs for them to finish setting up faster.

Thankfully, Ben decided he was done talking after that sentence. I watched Emmett joke around with his partner and continued to keep my distance. In the next minute, when we were released from standing near the walls, I pushed off and stalked towards the court that I wanted to be mine and Ben's. And in reflex, I looked over my shoulder to see where said partner was and why he wasn't directly behind me. What I saw, in that one, tiny, lightning quick instant, made my back stiffen and temporarily stopped my brain from functioning properly.

My thoughts jumbled. In that one glance, I took in three details: A sardonic smirk on his face, the squeak his shoe made on the floor, and his fingers as they spun the shuttlecock around in front of. . . his cock.

I turned back around like nothing had happened, because nothing had happened. Except that the hairs had risen on the back of my neck, and my brain just knew that I couldn't be near Ben anymore.


	19. Slow Assimilation

**AN:** Hi. How's it going?

*Crickets*

Well, I expected this. It's fine if you've flounced by now. I understand. If you've ACTUALLY clicked on that link in the email you received, and you're reading this right now, then wow. Thank you.

My last author's note said my life was a tornado, I believe? Yes, well, that's been very true for a while. Some things have been, uh, bad. Other things good. One such thing being the fact that I am now a liar in my profile when I say that I'm on the East Coast of the US... let's change that to the UK, shall we? South of England, anybody? Any readers from this area?

Anyway, I wasn't going to post this chapter for quite a long time, but I'm caving right now.

**THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW, OR SOMETHING...  
1. **I don't know when the next chapter will post. I really need your encouragement, though I know it's a lot to ask for right now. This plot is in my head all the time, and the characters and the situations, and it's pretty mentally draining and I question myself a lot... that's why it takes so long and that's why I ask for your support now.

**2.** If you haven't read my profile, it's fine. Just know that you don't need to question me about the name and getting into college, etc, thing. It's a part of the plot. I've got it covered. I can't answer you.

**3. FANDOM FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT**. Not sure if that's the official name of it right now... if you only KNEW how exhausted I am at the moment... But I've signed myself up for it, and I have a o/s in the works for it... so if you even like me as an author just a little bit, want to see what else I have up my sleeve, want to help out a really good cause, or want to demand that my submission for the thing is a POAG chapter... then yeah... do what you need to do. Donate, I think. Harass me through PMs/emails/whatever.

**4.** This chapter was beta'd a looooooong time ago. Early February. I think, _I think_, this version I'm uploading now is the edited one. If it's not, I AM SO SORRY MARCHHARE5. I DO NOT MEAN TO PUT TO WASTE YOUR MAGICAL BETA POWERS.

**NEED A RECAP OF POAG? THAT'S COOL, I UNDERSTAND... READ THIS REALLY SHITTY ONE I'VE COME UP WITH TO HELP YOU ALONG:  
**-Bella's all like, "Dude, I just can't keep doing this ghetto high school thing anymore, I don't have a chance here, I'm going to be smart and win a scholarship and go pretend to be a boy so I can have the same opportunities as other people at St. Bart's School for Boys."  
-Edward's all like, "Man, I want to help this new kid out, I've been in his place before, and he seems like he could be a cool friend, but jesus, he can be weird."  
-Bella has mini freak-outs where she gets kicked out of porn shops and feels up fruit in the supermarket. She also experiences toilet fail when it refuses to flush her tampon, resulting in mass hysteria for Jasper.  
-Edward helps out Ben with a suit for their homecoming dance.  
-Aaron Matthews is a jackass at school. Rogers is the principal. Mrs. Cherry is the art teacher. Snelgrove the English teacher. Aro is the Housemaster in the senior dorm.  
-James is the jackass that harassed Bella at the ghetto high school-Chelmsford High. Mr. Voltrain was her English teacher there.  
-Charlie and Bella's house burns down due to a candle malfunction at the hands of their copulating neighbors.  
-And Edward feels the sock penis accidentally at the dance (where Benella is a hit with the ladies), resulting in his and Bree's terrible deflowering, and both Bella and Edward's mounting confusion and therefore restlessness with their situations.  
-Bella has moved into the dorms, into Yorkie's old room, apparently... and Edward can't handle his shit, really.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Slow Assimilation**

Bella's POV

I was shading furiously with the edge of my pencil when a shadow fell over the right-hand corner of my drawing. Mrs. Cherry's salt and pepper hair came into view out of the corner of my eye as she hummed, analyzing what I had accomplished so far.

"This is good," she commented before straightening. I noticed the kid sitting beside me, a person whose name I had never bothered to learn, glance over at what I was doing before he turned back to his own attempts at art.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

The little middle-aged art teacher smiled sympathetically, sort of like she was sad just by looking at me. I didn't know what her problem was, but I could guess.

"You can come stay after school and keep working, if you'd like," she offered kindly.

Blankly, I looked up at her over my shoulder.

"If you feel like you might not have time enough to complete this in class," she began explaining, "you're free to come after school."

"Oh. . . I don't know."

I wanted to scratch my head at why she was treating me so delicately. Before I could further fumble over my words, Ms. Cherry continued.

"Anyway, your shadowing technique is very nice. Your whole portrait is coming along very nicely, in fact. The only suggestion I have is for you to include more gradation here." She pointed to the chin I was just trying to fix. When I looked back into her eyes to mumble an appreciative "Sure," her eyes crinkled and her head nodded, as if it were business as usual, but the flash of pity behind her eyes did not escape me.

And that was when I realized my teachers, all of my teachers, most likely knew what had happened this past weekend, and I was going to be given the "nice" treatment. I only hoped that everyone else would be too dense to notice.

It was also one of those days where I had developed a nervous tick. My eyes constantly saw something over my shoulder. I was seeing flickers in the corner of my vision, but turning my head, or casting an immediate glance towards the perceived movement, revealed nothing. And each time, each and every time I found myself looking, just so I wouldn't seem so completely jumpy, at the clock. Whose hands were not ticking by fast enough.

Of course, this meant that as soon as I berated myself for being weird and stopped looking at anything but the drawing I was attempting to finish, class ended.

And a backpack smacked me in the back of the head as someone rushed out. I only caught the blur of said backpack as it whipped out the door, but that wasn't what was suddenly important.

It was Edward, who was watching (me?) moodily from the hallway that was suddenly important. I tried to tell him with my eyes to wait for a moment. I tried to hurry to gather my stuff together, throwing pens haphazardly into the pit of my bag and shoving art supplies back into the containers they came from, but he didn't wait. I stumbled out into the hallway, but the amount of people I nearly ran into as they hurried back to their rooms at the end of the day made it impossible to really take my time. He disappeared.

o o o o o o o

Later on that evening, I found myself zoning out with my cell phone pressed to my ear. I didn't know why, but talking on the phone with my dad was already wearisome. I already knew what was going to happen, what was going to be said. The only surprising thing that would make talking to my dad more… interesting? would be if he wasn't concerned about me.

"And you're showering in the afternoons?" he asked, again.

"Yes," I replied quietly. "Trust me, I am."

"That's good. Good to hear, Bella."

"Yeah, Dad. I'm managing all right."

He sighed heavily. The sound took over my right ear, and I felt myself sighing with him.

"Well, it's only been a couple of days."

"I know," I said, bristling at his implication that it might go wrong still. "I keep to myself though. And most people avoid me."

Or they tried not to make it obvious they were attempting to avoid me.

We finished our conversation, my father and I, as if we were two people who suddenly didn't know one another too well. Our words were halting as we tried to neatly come to a close. But we had already said everything that could be said to one another several times over; awkward was the only mode we suddenly had. I just didn't want to think about showers in the afternoon, insurance on the duplex, which of our possessions were damaged, salvageable, or blackened beyond repair. It would have been better if my dad was physically by my side, even if we were both just staring off at the wall together with nothing to say. But he wasn't.

He couldn't be.

o o o o o o o

Mornings were already probably the hardest, when I would wake up alone, too cold to get out of bed, and wondering how I had really ended up where I was, and if I ever had a real choice in the matter.

It was also the only time I would really allow myself to look at my reflection in the mirror attached to the back of my door. I was entirely safe from others discovering my self-inspections, and I took advantage of it, nearly making myself late for Morning Prayer.

I tugged at the ends of my hair as I scrutinized my reflected image. How long before I would have to cut it again? What was an acceptably shaggy length before it started to look suspiciously girly? Would my dad be able to cut it again?

All of the possible answers to those questions faded away, my mind knowing those problems would be solved when the time came. I stared down at the bony legs poking out at the bottom of my basketball shorts that I wore to bed. The line I accidentally shaved into my leg was growing back in nicely; it was almost even with the hair on the other legs. You could barely even tell I had fucked up.

As lame as it was, my pathetic leg hair was really the only thing that was going right for me lately.

By the time I made it down to Morning Prayer, the place was pretty packed, with only a few stragglers like myself squeezing through the doors before eight o'clock. Therefore it wasn't a shock that I was stuck sitting towards the front, much closer to the altar than I had been since my very first day.

And my attention was wandering. Although my eyes weren't; they were focused on the small shelf thing on the back of the pew in front of me that held Bibles.

Truthfully, I hadn't opened a Bible since I was in elementary school. It wasn't even an actual Bible either, just a kid's version that some elderly relative had given me in the hopes that it would direct me on the path towards God better than my parents were doing at the time. Or were ever able to do, seeing as I had never opened an actual Bible.

I didn't know if that was some kind of a feat—being eighteen years old and never cracking open the spine of the Good Book. Looking at them, they were all the same; so stereotypical to everything you see in films where the runaway in the motel room pulls the Bible out of the nightstand. My mind began blocking out everything Father Joseph was saying and my fingers itched towards the binding; one moment could erase almost two decades on missing out on _actually_ reading words in the Bible.

Nervously, I tried to surreptitiously check my surroundings, just to be sure that everyone was focused on what they should be focused on, and that no one would notice little old _Ben Cheney_ in the front not paying attention.

But then again, I wanted to not pay attention with _the Bible_. Only some sort of sweet irony from the Fates would get me in trouble for that.

If the person sitting beside me was annoyed with the way I hastily jerked a Bible out, he didn't outwardly express it. Even when I had to shove the book back in its slot when I realized I had pulled out a book of homilies instead. On my second attempt I was more successful; I had an honest-to-God Bible in my hands.

It was almost directionless really, the way I began to slowly turn its pages, starting in the middle of the book. I tried to lean back and sit up straight, as if that posture would somehow show that I was paying attention… But in reality I was absorbed by the text on my lap. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for in its pages, but I knew I needed to find something… something that justified all of _this_—the school, which was founded on this faith, which in turn provided this scholarship—and that _it_ was good.

Or bad, truthfully. I got this excited sort of feeling at the thought that by reading the Bible I would discover that I didn't actually like it, that it was actually as radical and bad as it was sometimes made out to be, and that it was a good thing that I sticking it to The Man by merely existing in this school that I had no biological place being in.

Yet nothing was standing out. All the jargon seemed bland and too boggling to read—that is, until one random flipping to a completely new part brought me to this page and these words:

0

"For God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit in the gospel of his Son, that without ceasing I make mention of you always in my prayers;

Making request, if by any means now at length I might have a prosperous journey by the will of God to come unto you.

For I long to see you, that I may impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end ye may be established;

That is, that I may be comforted together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me."

0

And for some reason, those words really struck me. I had a physical reaction where there was some fuzzy emotion in my chest, and I believed I actually warmed at the words of comfort—something I lacked in the extreme.

I skimmed the rest of the page, marveling at how _simple_ it could all be. For the first time I could understand mutual appreciation and faith and the comfort that they derive… just from those few sentences. I looked for more. I went to the beginning of the chapter the passage came from and searched for more—but I couldn't find any. It became difficult again, boring, the language not easy to read. Yet I kept skimming, determined.

And that was when I saw _it_.

0

"Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen.

For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:

And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet."

0

Again, I skimmed, the meaning of that particular passage sinking in… the realization of why the Bible and religion was always so unappealing before coming back.

One last set of words jumped out.

0

"Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents,

Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful:

Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them."

0

I closed the Bible and put it back in its place, a hollow feeling spreading behind my ribs.

O O O O O O O

Edward's POV

"When they were inventing the clock, how did they know what time it was?" Emmett asked, frowning at his computer screen before he looked over at me, truly curious.

"It was arbitrary. They probably needed time to control people back then, and assigning a number held them accountable for something," Jasper answered from his place on the bed, looking over his useless maps and patrol routes.

I sighed. "Jasper, time is not a conspiracy theory. Emmett, they had sundials before they had clocks. People always knew what time it was, they just gave it a number."

Emmett kept frowning, but I ignored him, and tried to focus on conjugating verbs in Spanish for homework. The room, Emmett's room, stayed quiet for a little while. Only the shuffling of paper and the clicks coming from Emmett's computer could be heard.

"And vegetarians don't have anything against animal crackers, right?"

Jasper and I looked at Emmett, both of us confused this time.

"Why the hell are you asking us this?" Jasper said.

"I don't know. There's a lot of weird shit on the Internet."

I could see the hours panning out ahead of me now, where I wouldn't be able to get anything done and I couldn't pretend that I was fine with my friend's nonsense when nothing was fine yet.

I sat up, gathering all my work so that I could head to the lounge.

"Vegetarians," I began, looking Emmett square in the eye, "do not have anything against animal crackers. Nor will they ever." I walked to the door to leave the room, but then one last thought struck me.

"Unless the animal crackers were baked in actual animal fat, or something," I added, and _then_ I escaped.

I didn't end up going to the lounge like I originally planned, however. I made it down there, even turned the doorknob to go in, yet when I saw Ben's form through the small rectangular piece of glass as he hunched over to get something out of a vending machine, I came to the rapid conclusion that my room would be the safest bet at that point.

Trudging up the stairs wasn't appealing though. I figured that out as soon as I stood at the bottom of them and looked up at them as they twisted in a square up to the fourth floor. They were suddenly daunting. So another snap decision was made to walk around the hallways of the school. It was early enough that the library would still be open and they wouldn't be locking up certain corridors for the students to stay away from so the janitors could clean.

The clicking sound a door makes as it shuts happened at the same time that I was reentering the hall that passed by the lounge. Ben kept his hand on the door as it closed, seemingly to make sure it didn't slam, but with the way his eyes were on me, I couldn't hink of it as a stall tactic.

"Hey," he said.

He looked apprehensive, possibly eager to talk. I didn't procrastinate. I began walking straight past him to the main doors.

"Hey, how's it going?" I said quickly. As soon as I finished speaking, I felt a buzzing in my pocket.

"Good, you?" he replied, his tone confused.

I ignored him and pulled my phone out of my pocket—and then stopped dead.

Bree Calling

The only bit of fake manners left in me allowed me to smile tightly over at Ben one last time before I thrust the phone back in my pocket and my body out the door. The only detail I noticed was the way he clutched at a bag of salt and vinegar chips as if he wanted it to explode.

When I was outside, and the buzzing stopped, I took the phone out and silenced it. That was the most confusing—that _she_ would call _me_ first. In an act of self-preservation, I forced it to the back of mind.

That bag of salt and vinegar chips, though—that made me irrationally happy. Because I hated salt and vinegar chips, and it was, finally, some proof that there was something more concrete to disliking Ben.

Even though counting a type of chip he liked as a strike against him was stupid.

Even though it wasn't intentional how he crashed us down to the ground at the dance, or how my hand landed when trying to lift myself.

But I still wanted to hate him.

If none of that had happened, then none of that crap with Bree would have happened, and so at the moment it was safe to say that my emasculation at the hands of that stupid girl was entirely blamable on Ben.

It was when I found a deserted stairwell inside the school to sit in that I realized I was reaching that point where I either hated myself to my very core if I thought about it, or I didn't think about it at all. If I could just avoid the both of them… pretend they didn't exist for a little while as I figured things out… But if Ben's constant reappearing was any sign, it was going to be impossible to keep up a duck-and-cover act.

What would happen when we finally talked? Would Ben know what was going on with me? He acted like it, almost… or didn't he? I couldn't tell. If he did, was he going to admit something about himself to me? Some truth about his sexual orientation? I had this image in my head of some scene from some movie; there were two older guys, and one was definitely gay and he had to help the other one realize that he was also gay. And that "straight" guy fought all the persuasion. I could see Ben trying the same thing on me. Instead of expelling all that energy to fight against whatever he was going to say, I only wanted to tip-toe around him.

I would never admit it to anyone else, but after my ass got numb from sitting on the hard step, I went to the library. I was all smiles and my normal, likable self as I said hi to the librarians as I signed in on the after-school sheet. But I was strategic in my choice of computer. It was in a corner, with tall bookshelves mostly blocking it from other people seeing the screen.

I didn't even know where to begin. I only knew that when I couldn't handle sitting still anymore, thinking about not trying to think, that I had to test myself.

Google was obviously the first place I went to. I stared at the empty search bar, my head feeling just as empty. Eventually, though, I typed in the first word that came to mind.

Men.

I wasn't really sure what I thought was going to come up under a Google Images search for "men," but what did pop up was still sort of unexpected. A diagram of a dude in his underwear? A blonde chick? Some guy gripping at the towel around his waist? Some of it was just uncomfortable, really. The ones of guys wrapped around each other. Some of them making out. Close ups of popular actors…

Truthfully, I stared really hard at the pictures of guys in more… intimate positions. Anything caressing or tender I paid special attention to. I would click on the picture, see it in its largest possible form in order to try and get the full effect.

And when I was done, when I felt like I had been staring at half naked men long enough, thinking about the attractiveness of men long enough, I cleared the browser history and stepped away from the computer. I signed out of the library. I walked slowly back to my room.

The time it took for me to make it back to the dorm was enough for me to reflect and come to the conclusion that I didn't feel anything… different? Suspicious? But still, I had reacted to Ben… that way. I still didn't feel like I knew anything about myself.

o o o o o o o

It was eight o'clock at night and the dining center on the first floor was pretty calm. The evening rush was over, with most people eating right at six p.m. when they opened. Service was officially going to stop at eight-thirty, and if anyone was left afterward, they would all be asked to find someplace else to hang out at when the dining center finally shut completely down at nine.

Jasper, Emmett, and I were among the ten or so left sitting around, slowly finishing dinner. Other later eaters were in line, waiting to pay before they sat down. Our group, and the whole area, was quiet tonight. The only real conversation going on was about Magic: the Gathering between two people in our year that I'd never spoken to before. The amused glances passed between myself and Emmett and Jasper as we silently poked fun at them actually deluded me for a moment into feeling normal. Or that nothing had happened that should make me feel abnormal.

As much fun as wandering around and isolating myself was earlier, I quickly figured out that spiraling downwards in my head was already driving me insane in a way that scared me. And my friends would only take so much shit from me before they stopped talking to me until I came clean. Besides, their presence helped reduced most of the ugly thoughts I was having.

Someone's stomach rumbled, the sound so loud I had to turn my head and see if I could figure out who it came from.

"Dude!" Emmett exclaimed, doing all the detective work for me. "Jasper, what the hell was that?"

"I don't fucking know," Jasper replied incredulously. "I just ate."

Emmett laughed and started impersonating a woman. "Well, Jasper, you're all skin and bones. You could stand to put some more muscle on you."

Jasper rolled his eyes. "Fuck you."

He shoved his chair away from the table and dug into his pockets to pull out his student ID, walking quickly over to the food counter before it got any later. I listened to Emmett mashing chicken between his gums and decided that I was better off buying something for later than listen to him chew like a cow.

I came up behind Jasper silently, not really intending to talk to him while we were in line. But he noticed my presence and acknowledged it.

"Hey."

"Hey," I repeated.

"You getting something?"

"Yeah, for later," I replied, and then looked at the bags of chips.

I felt that Jasper's eyes were still on me, though, so I looked at him questioningly. He was watching me hesitantly, a frown on his face. His eyes darted around different parts of my face before they settled right on mine, his resolve clear.

"So what's crawled up your ass and died?"

"What?" I balked. "Nothing."

"Don't give me that. Just tell me what happened."

"No," I said in disbelief at the sudden interrogation. "There's nothing to tell."

"So then Emmett's right, then?"

"What's he right about?"

"You're on your period."

I scoffed. "Very funny."

Jasper raised his eyebrows loftily. "Hell, I agreed with him."

"Uh huh," I muttered, attempting to dismiss the entire conversation.

"For all I know, with the way you've been acting, you are on your period. I'm just waiting for you to confess and tell me that you're the one who left the tampon out in the open."

I groaned, disregarding the way I felt my muscles tense at the word _confess_. "Will you just drop it? Drop everything. The tampon thing, too. You're not going to get to bottom of it."

He turned to face me completely then, his back to the counter that we were, for some reason, only approaching slowly. "I'm not?" he questioned. "Why do you sound so confident about that?"

I responded to the weighty challenge in his voice with my own heavy dose of skepticism. "Jasper, what leads do you have in this investigation you've created? What evidence, what proof do you have?" His mouth popped open to retort, but I spoke again quickly. "You have nothing. You don't know how long it was there for before you saw it. You don't know who was in the bathroom before you, and all your _evidence_ was flushed!"

"That wasn't my fault!" he argued. "And not only was Ben Cheney the one who flushed it, he was in there before me."

"So get him to help you."

"Pshaw… No way."

I shrugged at his attitude. "Oh well, then."

Jasper's gaze was stunned, then turned pleading. "Do you know how frustrating it is knowing you won't help me?"

He waited for me to say something, but when I wouldn't acknowledge his anguish, he carried on undeterred.

"Seriously, the tampon thing is something we all should be curious about, at the very least… Edward, it's a _TAMPON_. A tampon! A _used, bloody_ tampon. In our _all-male_ bathrooms. It just blows my mind that you were there to witness it and you don't care as much. It's…it's…" he started sputtering, evidently unable to find the words. "It's _in_credible, as in _not_ credible—but it _actually _happened. I seriously think something is up. We're being infiltrated. There's something happening that we're not supposed to know about. And we should _do_ something about it. It just… it isn't _right_."

He finished by expelling the last of the breath it took for him to go on the tirade, and I gaped at him in silence, my head at a loss for words, when big, boisterous laughter broke out at the food counter and distracted both Jasper and me from our argument.

"What was that you jus' said?" the server asked the kid in front of him.

"Uh…" the guy cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, it was obvious he was trying to lower the pitch of his voice without lowering the volume too much. "I, uh, asked what you ate for dinner."

"Yeah, bu' what was the second part?"

"What you did for dinner when you were busy serving other people theirs?" the guy restated as a question, clearly nervous. He began scratching at his back while his pitch raised again.

The server laughed. "Tha's a good one. I ain't been asked that one before." He finished arranging all of the person's food on his tray, quickly wiped down the counter with a rag he had, and flung it over his shoulder nonchalantly while he continued his conversation, forgetting about the line.

Hell, I had nearly forgotten about the line and the chips I wanted to get.

"Wha's your name, kid?" The server crossed his arms over his chest imperially.

"Uh—Be-n."

I ignored the fact that this person was stupidly nervous enough to stutter over his own name and tried to focus on the fact that I actually knew him.

And that I was trying to keep my distance from him, but he was _everywhere_.

"Well, Ben," the server paused for thought, "I try ta eat somethin' decent before work, bu' other than that I sneak a bite in here and there when I can, if I can't wait till after work. Your curiosity satisfied now?" he finished with a smirk.

"Uh, yup." Ben began nodding, grabbing at his tray after swiping his ID through the reader to pay. "It is, thanks." He turned around so fast with his tray he nearly ran into Jasper.

"Whoa, watch it, Cheney," Jasper warned.

Ben ignored him, only giving me a shaky smile before darting off to sit alone in a corner of the dining center. Jasper shook his head at him and then turned around to finally order what he wanted, but I followed him with my eyes as he sat down and hunched over his tray, seeming to eat as fast as he possibly could. Again, I noticed that he kept scratching at his back.

And then I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. This time, I ignored it until the vibrating stopped, and then I looked at it.

1 Missed Call

Alice Cell

I put the phone back in my pocket, pretending that I hadn't felt the vibrating or seen the name of person whose call I missed, and grabbed a bag of chips.

"What's that?" Emmett asked me when I sat back down with my chips.

"What's what?" I wondered.

"Salt and vinegar? I thought you hated those, especially after you puked them up at the end of last year."

That was when I noticed that I had, indeed, bought a bag of chips in a flavor I despised above all other flavors on this earth, and let my chin drop onto my chest in defeat.

"I'll eat 'em if you don't want 'em," Emmett offered.

I shoved the bag across the table, and when I lifted my head again to thank him, my gaze went directly to Ben… and the piece of ace wrap that was exposed as he continued to scratch at himself. It was only visible for a second, but it was definitely there, and I saw it. This time though, instead of letting that feeling of desire to solve a puzzle pull me over to him and start asking questions, I stayed where I was sitting. There was a much stronger feeling telling me that curiosity was going to kill this cat.

o o o o o o o

The rest of dinner passed normally. I only thought minimally if I should resort to analyzing my reaction to the attractiveness of other guys in our grade after I made the mistake with the potato chips. Emmett didn't try to inform me that I was on my period also, apparently having left Jasper to do his dirty work for him. I thought I had deserved some peace and quiet, some real reprieve from people, as I lay in bed, getting ready to fall asleep early.

So when my phone buzzed again, I groaned internally, debating with myself whether or not to look at it. Not looking at it would spare me, because then I wouldn't truly know who called this time, and therefore I wouldn't have any guilt over not answering. Looking would mean that I would know, I would feel guilty, I would feel that tug to answer. And if I just finally answered, then I could get it over with, for now.

The internal war raged for only a matter of seconds before one battle was decided. I tugged the phone out, looked at the screen, and sighed. It could have been anyone out of my fifty contacts, statistically. But recent events and recent call history narrowed down my most likely caller between two people. The name flashing on the screen, I mused, was the lesser evil of the two girls.

I had only to stare at the screen for a second more before another internal battle was won and the whole war was over, taking one settling breath as I flipped open the phone and answered as casually as possible.

"Hello?"


End file.
